Save You
by socact
Summary: Edward is a brilliant, troubled doctor who uses medicine to escape his past, until he meets a beautiful patient whose mysterious, debilitating disease challenges everything he knows about life and death. Can he save her? Can she save him? AH, ExB, Rated M
1. The Unhappy Triad

**A/N**: This isn't an expansion of my one-shot with House/Twilight, but Edward has a lot of the same traits. Bella, however, is someone totally different. She will come in later.

I am only a med student, so I apologize if my depiction of the wards is inaccurate. I have done my best, based on my own experience (or inexperience, as it were). Also, I obviously don't have anything against the hospital staff - this is Edward's way of voicing his own frustrations. I think the world of nurses/PTs/pharmacists/etc.

I'm going to be nerdy and name my chapters after certain injuries, diseases, medical terminology, etc. Heh heh.

Reviews are always hugely appreciated.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Twilight, but I own both my kidneys.

***

**Chapter 1: The Unhappy Triad**

**EPOV**

"Excuse me, Dr. Cullen?"

The high-pitched irritating voice came out in a timid whisper, which I expected. Every nurse in this hospital was terrified of me, and I didn't give a shit if their fear was justified or not. It probably was, in this case. I was watching a highly entertaining episode of _It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia_, and this useless lackey was breaking my reverie. I wasn't going to dignify her presence with a response.

She pretended to clear her throat, which she thought might lighten my mood. Or no, that couldn't be it. She'd be promoted to chief of orthopedics before that happened. Ha. Right. I chuckled to myself.

"Dr. Cullen," she said, in a tiny, quivering voice. "There is a patient in Room 4 that Dr. Brandon wants you to see."

What. The. Fuck. Now Brandon was sending me messengers to see her patients? I'd give her a walloping dose of shit for this tomorrow. She was one of the senior residents, fairly competent, but also spineless. Brandon was too fucking cheery and naïve to ever be a successful doctor. She probably knew that, but she didn't care. She cared only to the extent that I gave her a decent recommendation, because she was my resident and I was her boss. I singlehandedly dictated the course of her career.

"Then why doesn't _Dr. Brandon_," I sneered, "come and get me herself?"

"Her shift just ended, Doctor."

"Jeezus," I said under my breath as I stood up and grabbed the chart from her. "Since when does anyone around here think their shift ends until I say it ends?"

I was pretty sure Brandon had just worked a 24-hour shift, or something close to it, but this nurse didn't know that and I wanted to remind her who was boss. Of course I didn't dictate when people's shifts ended, but again, I wanted to make a point. Brandon had probably paged me eight times to let me know she was going home, but I left my beeper in my office and had no incentive to get it at the moment.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," she mumbled.

I glared at her as I stalked out of the room, headed toward Room 4 to see this patient who sure as fuck better be worth my time. I shouldn't always be taking my annoyance out on the nurses, but I get irritated when they show up in my face and tell me what to do. I would deal with this one later.

I walked briskly down the hall, nodding gruffly to the few people that managed to make eye contact with me. They respected me in a silent, intimidated kind of way. Hospitals were built on a very hierarchical system, and I was at the top. Or somewhere near the top. Surgeons had the cushiest offices, because that's just how it is, but surgery was also for people who wanted to fix the shit that I diagnosed. And where was the fun in that? I had done a residency in surgery, kind of for the hell of it, but it was more to prove a point than anything else. I wasn't intimidated by people who viewed medicine as "art." Bullshit. Medicine was sick, old, dying people who wanted you to save them. To give them another day, another month, another year. And for what? To be brutally fucking honest, most people didn't have lives worth saving.

So, why do it at all then? Why was I on these godforsaken wards at some godforsaken hour, listening to a goddamned nurse tell me I had to see some worthless patient in Room 4? I don't know. Sometimes, I really don't fucking know. If I had to articulate an answer, I'd probably throw in a few words like power and prestige. Maybe one or two about challenging myself. I saw the sickest, strangest, most baffling cases, because no one else could solve them. I could, more often than not. If I couldn't, they died. I was the end of the line for these people.

And so I approached Room 4 fairly certain I was going to see someone on their deathbed, bleeding out of their eyes and ears or some other crazy shit. I didn't bother to knock, as usual. My subordinates knocked; I just did whatever the fuck I wanted.

"Are you awake?" I bellowed as I strode into the room, which was empty except for the figure lying on the bed. "Ms…uh, Hale?"

She looked battered and bruised, and the skin around her eye was a deep, menacing purple. Aside from the massive contusions and multiple lacerations all over her face, she was a young, striking blonde.

"Well, shit," I said. "What happened to _you_?"

"Car accident," she managed through clenched teeth. _Right_. I had heard that excuse thousands of times from women her age. It took a few trips to the emergency room for them to give me the truth.

"Are you here alone?" I asked.

"Yes," she mumbled.

"Well, that's step one in your recovery," I muttered, giving her a not so subtle signal that I knew exactly what had happened.

"It's not what it looks like," she protested.

"Look, I don't care. I'm here to address your medical needs," I said with my typical sarcasm. "If you want more than that, press the chaplain button."

"There's a chaplain button?" she asked.

I rolled my eyes. Again, I wasn't going to dignify that with a response.

"So what's wrong with you, aside from your face?" I asked. As in, what the fuck am I supposed to do for a purple face? I couldn't give this bimbo some instant plastic surgery, although she was probably about to ask for it.

"My knee…" she mumbled, cringing as she spoke. It was almost painful to watch. Almost.

Ugh. A knee problem? So straightforward. So boring. I felt my valuable time being wasted with each passing second.

"Can you pull up your gown so I can look at it?" I asked, which came out like a demand. I tried to grant my female patients some measure of dignity. It was one of the few lessons in med school I actually put into practice.

"Can you?" she asked. "It hurts to move."

I pulled down the sheets and rolled up the edge of her gown to assess the damage. Her knee appeared normal to an untrained eye, but I could tell just by looking at it that she had busted the unhappy triad.

"Meet up with a baseball bat?" I asked. It was an educated guess, and most likely an accurate one. But she'd never admit that.

"No," she said. "I…hurt it a month ago, and I think it's messed up."

"It _is_ messed up," I said, recycling her words. "It's very messed up." Best to use kid gloves with this one.

"What's wrong with it?"

"You most likely tore three ligaments in your knee, known in orthopedics as the 'unhappy triad.'"

"Why is it called that?"

"Because your knee is unhappy about the fact that it's totally fucked up."

She sighed deeply. "But it doesn't even hurt," she mumbled.

"If the ligaments are torn, then it won't hurt. Here, let me demonstrate."

I lifted her slightly-bent leg and jerked the calf forward, and for a second, it looked like the upper and lower parts of her leg weren't even connected. Ah, yes, a positive Lachmann test: every college football player's worst nightmare. I thought of this broad playing football and almost laughed out loud.

"That looks like it should hurt," she observed. "Is it bad that it doesn't?"

"No, it's not bad. Look, if you want to fix this, get surgery. Enjoy nine months of recovery and you'll be back to runway modeling, or whatever you do."

"Nine months?" she exclaimed, and her face fell. "I don't have nine months."

"Then live with a knee that does the weird shit I just demonstrated for you. Your quads will compensate, although you'll limp. It'll be, like, your trademark."

"I don't want a limp."

"No, most of us don't. But that's your problem, so tell the resident you want an ortho consult and they'll deal with it."

I pulled the sheets back up hurriedly and let out a disgruntled huff as I started for the door. Brandon was going to pay for this. Seriously, what the fuck was she thinking? A battered wife with a busted knee? Precisely the kind of emotional, messy cases I avoided.

"Wait," came her garbled, agonized voice. "Please, wait."

"What?" I asked in an irritated, rushed tone. Most patients backed down when they got this tone. She didn't.

"I requested you," she said. Of course she did. I was practically a celebrity in this place. Every patient wanted to see the best doctor, just like every doctor wanted to see the best patients. Best as in hot, young, and well acquainted with showers. Didn't mean I got them.

"A lot of patients request me."

"I've heard about you, Dr. Cullen. A friend of mine told me to see you."

"A friend of yours?"

"Yes, she…went to college with you. Although she was a few years younger than you, I think."

College was a distant, murky memory, and I remembered approximately three people from the experience. There was no way in hell I was going to remember some rando, but if she was as attractive as this one, I might have done her at a frat party or something. Then again, I probably wouldn't remember her in that case either.

"Her name is Bella Swan."

"Don't know her," I said. And that was the truth. I had definitely never encountered anyone with that name, in any capacity.

"She knows you. Well, she knows of you. She's a doctor, too."

"What kind of doctor?" I asked in a bored tone. In fact, I had no idea why I was even perpetuating this vapid conversation.

"A pediatrician."

Ha. What a waste of time. I put pediatricians on the same level as nurses and physical therapists. Any decent mother knew more than any pediatrician I had encountered.

"That's great," I said, the usual sarcasm returning. I _really_ didn't give a shit about the subpar doctors this flake knew, and I couldn't believe I had wasted so much time indulging her.

"Anyway, best of luck with the unhappy triad. Enjoy your new limp," I said in a clipped tone as I turned on my heel and left the room. I was tired and irritated and it was time to go home, home to my empty apartment and miles away from these halls that consumed my life.

***

It was almost midnight when I got off the train and walked up the steep hill to my apartment. The night was foggy and cold, unsurprising for August in San Francisco. Or Fogust, as the locals called it. I didn't care, though. I liked bad weather because it kept people indoors and out of my ER.

I walked up the stairs to my apartment on the third floor of one of those picture-perfect Victorians, which sat on a hill and overlooked the city in every direction. The view from my windows was a stunning sight, more than enough to keep me entertained most days. The city lights streamed in through the large, open windows, and I was reminded, once again, of why I lived here. "Welcome to paradise," someone had said a few days after I moved to San Francisco. Paradise indeed.

I stepped out of my shoes and walked over to my piano by the window, my favorite place to just sit and think and stop giving a shit about my life and all the sick people in it. Because I really did despise people most of the time. I enjoyed my solitude and only Brandon was brazen enough to question me about it. She couldn't process the fact that some people enjoyed their own company and didn't feel the need to interrupt it with the mindless chatter of others. I endured enough of that on a daily basis.

But that was the front, the very convincing image I projected to the world. I was a doctor who treated strangers. I turned away patients I knew and the people they knew. I did it because I was fucked up, in a way, but it had very little to do with medicine. Or everything to do with it. The only person I spoke to these days was my father, and our communication was almost shamefully infrequent. He understood why, though. He understood, and thankfully, he was the only one in my life who did. No one would ever get close enough to me to know more about me than the medicine I practiced and the reputation I had earned. No one would ever see this place. No one would see the completely empty walls and stark lack of furniture. I didn't have a home. I had an escape.

Brandon had tried, of course. She had asked me a few questions about my family and background before I completely shut her down, and she gave up. I knew a few of the rumors circulating about me, but I didn't give a shit. They weren't accurate, or even creative. Dr. Cullen was a recluse, a deranged genius, an anomaly. Or, my personal favorite, a highly functional autistic who couldn't relate to people. Loved that one. If they knew about my musical talent, people would go nuts with that diagnosis. An autistic savant. Maybe I should just go with it.

Of course, none of it really mattered anyway. People were self-absorbed and merely enjoyed the speculation about my private life, rather than the reality. As I downed the last of my gin and tonic, I placed it gingerly on the wood surface, and placed my fingers on the worn, familiar keys. I played long into the night, my fingers dancing in a frenzied rhythm, my emotions spilling out in some fucked up way that I never bothered to think about. The piano spoke for me. It was all I needed to escape: a piano and walls and the endless lights of the city below. I escaped to this place, where my past, my life, my medicine, could never follow.

As the music filled the room, my mind cleared and I felt the familiar fatigue cloud my thinking and pull me toward unconsciousness. Still sitting at my piano, I drifted off to the sound of the foghorns in the distance, and the screech of cabs as they pulsed through the city like the blood in my veins.

***

"Dr. Cullen, did you see Ms. Hale yesterday?"

"What?"

I was sitting at my desk in my office, zoning out while a new day of life and death started on the wards. I groaned at the interruption. Brandon was standing in my doorframe, looking too cheerful as always.

"Rosalie Hale? I wanted you to talk to her."

"Yes, I gathered as much. What for, Brandon? She had a torn ACL. You saw that."

"Didn't you talk to her? She wanted to talk to you about a case."

"A case? From a patient? Jeezus, don't waste my time."

"She didn't tell you about her friend?" her face fell a little bit, and she looked slightly concerned.

"Who gives a shit about her friend? That woman has her own problems."

"I reported the abuse," she said. "I didn't expect you to do that."

"Well, great. And no, I didn't talk to her about her _friend_. She mentioned some random pediatrician but that was it."

"That's it?" Brandon asked, and she had a puzzled look on her face.

"Yes, that's it. What isn't your brain registering here? Give me a break, Brandon. Don't play games with me. You know I hate that shit."

"I see," she said. "Well, never mind then. I apologize for wasting your time."

"Don't do it again."

"I won't."

"Good. So who is demanding our attention today?" I grumbled.

"There's a meeting at 10 with the new interns. You're expected to welcome them…or something along those lines," she mumbled.

Oh, fun. I wasn't a very welcoming person, and Brandon knew it. More than likely, I'd make them regret their career choice altogether.

"That's it?"

"Two new admits on the third floor. One is…well-known."

"Well-known?"

"A celebrity of some sort."

Oh, goodie. I loved toying with celebrities, especially the hotheaded actors who thought they ruled the world. Then they dealt with me, and realized they ruled nothing. They couldn't even rule their own bodies.

"Fine. I'll get on that later."

"Okay," she said, but I noticed her tone had a little less lilt to it than usual. I didn't really give a fuck about Brandon's private life, but if it affected her job, then I did. I could usually read her like a book, and I had an idea of what was going on here.

"How is that kid doing? The ALD patient?"

Adrenoleukodystrophy was a fatal, genetic disease that affected young boys. Brandon had been treating a six-year-old for months, but his prognosis was poor. The condition destroyed nerve cells, and it was a slow, agonizing death. I avoided those cases, too, because they were too fucking depressing.

"He died yesterday," she said softly.

"I'm sorry," I said, meeting Brandon's dark eyes. Medicine was about saving lives, not losing them, and death affected everyone differently. It affected me, too, but I never showed the slightest shred of emotion. Most doctors tried not to. Emotional detachment was a skill that every physician tried to develop, but few ever did.

"It's part of the job," she said. And that was true. She would bounce back, and she'd be stronger the next time. At least, that was how it went for me. But I would never, ever, mention that to Brandon. Most doctors thought I was emotionally dead, and I wanted to keep it that way. I wasn't here to lecture young doctors on the psychological turmoil of life and death matters. They had shrinks for that shit.

I nodded, and I watched as she struggled to mask the emotions bubbling beneath the surface of her dark, expressive eyes. No wonder I could read her like a book.

"Don't forget the meeting at 10," she said. And then she turned and walked out.

***

I screwed around in my office until 10, when Brandon came by to get me.

"Did you forget?" she asked, but she wasn't annoyed.

"No, I just wanted to be late," I replied honestly.

"Well, mission accomplished. Let's go."

I groaned as I pushed out my chair and stood up, feeling my muscles scream. I had somehow found it in me to go for a 10-mile run this morning, and I was paying for it now.

"Rough night last night?" Alice teased, which was a little bold but I'd allow it.

"Unfortunately, no," I responded, grabbing my stethoscope off the desk. I never wore my white coat, because it looked like I was trying too hard. I didn't need a white coat to intimidate patients.

We walked along the crowded halls toward the conference room, which contained these poor, miserable souls whose lives were about to change in a very low paying, sleep depriving way. The life of an intern sucked hard, and no one envied them. Except maybe the residents, who missed their own innocence.

Brandon was the chief resident in my department, so she talked first.

"Good morning, everyone," she said cheerily. Her smile was open and genuine, because it always was. Everyone liked this girl, including her patients. All of mine despised me—until I saved them, of course. Then they worshiped me.

"I would just like to welcome you all to the University of California, San Francisco, which is one of the top hospitals in the country and the world. This is an incredible place, and we are so fortunate and thrilled to have you. We know that you will continue the tradition of physicians here who treat their patients with unrivaled skill, compassion, and respect."

Wow, this was a solid speech. Well done, Brandon. All bullshit, but well done. She continued her rehearsed remarks for a few more minutes, but kept it short because doctors hate long, useless speeches that take up valuable time for sleeping, eating, and functioning. Brandon knew this, and she abided by it. Her time was even more valuable than theirs.

As I listened to her, I realized that Brandon would one day make a decent doctor, if she removed her head from Cloud Nine and realized how truly shitty the world is. We spent millions of dollars, countless hours, and a fuckload of brainpower on each and every life, like each one was worth it all. We treated convicts, bums, child molesters, prostitutes, rapists, murderers, drug-addicts, and we spared no expense. Those patients couldn't pay a single dime, but no one thought twice about it. I was glad I wasn't sitting on some financial board somewhere, because our hospital was broke as fuck. Most hospitals were, really. Of course you would be broke if you spent millions on one person, who died a few days later anyway from a drug overdose. Was all of it worth it? Did my job make any fucking sense?

I tried not to think about the logistics, really. I didn't see my patients as people—I saw them as cases. It was easier that way. More professional, more distant. Most people did jobs dealing with money, sales, lawsuits, whatever. I dealt with people. It wasn't a simple science, so I had to make my own rules.

She avoided these and other delicate topics, including any mention of how fucking hard these people were going to work for the next few years, and turned to me with a polite smile and a generous introduction. I stood up where I was, because I didn't do podiums.

"This is Dr. Edward Cullen," she said, gesturing toward me. "He's the attending, so you'll ultimately be answering to him."

Ultimately. I liked the sound of that. I could do so much damage in such a short time with these bright-eyed fools, but I didn't want to embarrass Brandon. I respected her and didn't want her to lose face in front of these goons.

"I'd just like to echo Dr. Brandon's welcome to UCSF, which is the only place I would ever practice," I said truthfully.

They looked at me wide-eyed, processing my widespread reputation in medical circles as one of the best clinicians in the world. I knew how competitive this residency was; I knew because I sat on the admissions committee and hand-picked the little geniuses who would be spending the next five years of their lives with me. There were only five of them each year, and two or three always dropped out, but Brandon had made it all the way through. I knew, from the day I met her in this room, that she would. I surveyed the faces in front of me and made the same prediction about this clan when I studied their reactions.

"Just remember you don't know a thing about medicine, and if you act like you do, you'll seem like an arrogant asshole and you will most likely get your patients killed. I can tell you I'm not very happy when that happens," I said, watching their faces contort in fear at my words. I just wanted to drive the point home that I was the only arrogant asshole on these wards, and there wasn't room for more of them.

"And, also, the next few years are going to be hell, but you already knew that. I just wanted to reiterate the point," I remarked. "If you have questions, see Dr. Brandon. If you have more questions, see her again. Don't come to me unless your mother's dying from Ebola on the waiting room floor."

All but one of them looked at me in horror and disbelief. One of them, though, absorbed my words with a straight, almost bored expression. It wasn't arrogance, just intolerance to my intimidation tactics. Well, good. He'd still be here in five years. Just as I'd predicted.

"Great. Have fun," I finished, and turned to head out. But Brandon wasn't having any of that.

"Dr. Cullen, I know how valuable your time is, but everyone here would like to at least meet you," she said. I knew it was rude of me to walk out, but I also knew Brandon would stop me. So I obliged. I shook each of their hands and instantly forgot their names. I didn't need that useless info crowding my head.

"Wait. Dr. Cullen," one of them said as I made my second attempt to leave the room. It was the one with the stoic face, the one that would make it. Even so, I wasn't going to give him that satisfaction quite yet. He had years of misery to endure first.

"I'm Jasper Whitlock. I respect your work, sir. I applied here because it's a privilege to learn from you."

Great, one of these overly polite Southern types. His accent was subtle, a sign of years of rigorous, most likely Ivy League education, but he was still the "sir" type. At least he understood the meaning of respecting your superiors, even though we looked about the same age.

"I imagine you'll be doing most of your learning from her," I replied, glancing toward Dr. Brandon, who was chatting amicably with the other four.

"Yes, that's true," he agreed. "But I'm not afraid of you. I'll kick my own ass for you, but I'm not afraid of you."

"Fear is not a bad thing, Dr. Whitlock. Fear makes you a better doctor."

"I understand that, sir. So does compassion."

Was this little prick trying to give me a lecture? I sincerely hoped not. I was going to give him the benefit of the doubt, because in spite of his boldness, I liked him for some odd reason. I had a feeling this guy wouldn't bullshit me. I had a feeling that when I asked him a question he didn't know, he would give me the right answer: "I don't know." Most valuable three words in medicine. Otherwise people died and that pissed me off.

"I'll be anxious to see if you're still telling yourself that in ten years," I retorted, because compassion was always the first thing to go.

"I hope so," he said. "In any case, I wanted to thank you for giving me the opportunity to be here."

"Don't thank me. Just do your job and do the best you can to avoid me. Interns are more useless than med students around here. At least they know they know nothing."

I saw Brandon out of the corner of my eye, studying our interaction as she answered inane questions from the other interns. She was looking at me a little funny, and she managed a few glances at this Whitlock guy, too. What the fuck was she doing? Assessing my judgment of another useless, naïve newbie?

She managed to excuse herself from whatever conversation she was having with the others, and walked over to us.

"So I see you've met Dr. Whitlock?" Brandon said as she strolled into our circle.

"Please, call me Jasper," he insisted. Jasper? What kind of fucker let a guy named Jasper into medical school? Maybe I should have paid more attention to that on his application.

Brandon smiled brightly, and something in my mind clicked when I saw her looking at him. Brandon liked this guy. As in, wanted to do him in Janitor Joe's oversized closet. As in, Brandon apparently had a sexual interest in the opposite sex. I had always figured Alice was just asexual, because she didn't have a ring and didn't seem to care. Either way, I didn't give a fuck what her bedroom activities entailed, unless it filtered into her professional life. This little development could very easily interfere with her work, if it ended badly. I might have to nip this potential love affair in the bud.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as she ogled at the tallish, blondish guy named Jasper, of all things. No one at this hospital had ever addressed me by my first name, which was odd, but it suited me fine. My first name reminded me of things I never thought about anymore, a time when I actually had a life outside of my profession. That time was so long ago that I rarely thought about it anymore.

"Well, then, I should be going," I announced. No need for me to witness this eye flirt any longer.

"Wait," Brandon said, turning to me. "Is there a chance you could swing by Rosalie Hale's room again today?"

I had already done that because Brandon had seemed so upset about it earlier, but I didn't want to give her that satisfaction. It didn't matter anyway, because she had been discharged early this morning. The whole thing was so fucking bizarre—why the hell did she want me to talk to this completely random, bland patient whose case was boring, standard, and a waste of time?

"She was discharged this morning," I said finally. I wanted her to get over this Rosalie Hale fixation and move on.

"She was?" Brandon exclaimed, and her smile disappeared instantly.

"Yes," I said. "She was."

"Who the hell discharged her?" she demanded, and I saw her face redden a bit at the outburst. In my five years working with Brandon, I had never once heard her raise her voice. I was stunned, actually, and I lost my train of thought for a second. The last time someone had raised his voice at me was fifteen years ago, and it was the night that had changed my life. I unconsciously flinched at the memory.

"I apologize," she muttered, reading my reaction and the grimace on my face. It wasn't her words, but that image in my mind. An image I had suppressed for over a decade, and her voice had somehow brought it back.

"It's fine," I said, but my voice was tense, angry.

And I left the two of them there, Brandon's face a shattered, flustered red, while Whitlock attempted to register the puzzling exchange. Even I had no insight into what had just happened, and I didn't want to give any one of us a chance to find out. It would pass, and that memory would fade into the deepest recesses of my memory, exactly where it belonged.

***

**A/N: Thanks for reading! **


	2. Syncopal Episode

**A/N**: Lots of doctors popping up here - that's going to change soon. And Rosalie isn't connected to Emmett...yet. I didn't want people thinking he was the bad guy in her life.

Syncopal episode = fainting

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Twilight, but Shakespeare didn't really own Romeo and Juliet, either.

***

**CHAPTER 2: SYNCOPAL EPISODE**

**BPOV**

When my alarm sounded at 5:15 am, the first rays of the sun were streaming through my tiny window, and I could hear the bus rumbling to a stop outside. My apartment was tiny, cramped, but I didn't care. It was teeming with all of the things I had accumulated over the years, all the books and knickknacks and pictures that detailed every one of my twenty-seven years. Finally, I felt like I was getting somewhere. Finally, my lifelong dream of becoming a doctor was coming true.

I had just started my residency at SFGH, the largest public hospital in the city. Known affectionately as "The General," it took in thousands of the city's poorest residents each year. Their pediatrics department was small, but I would do a rotation at the main hospital sometime next year. For now, I was content to do my training at a bustling, chaotic place like SFGH, serving the neediest of the city's children. I couldn't imagine a higher calling.

As always, I started my day with a long, chilly run through Golden Gate Park, with its innumerable trails and gentle hills. I hated hills. I wasn't sure I would ever get used to them, especially after spending my childhood living on a pancake like Phoenix. At least I could hope for a more toned ass, if I climbed enough of these hills.

I was clumsy as hell, but somehow I had conditioned myself to run without falling, as long as I kept my eyes fixed on the dirt path. I usually stumbled once or twice, but I expected that. I was just proud of myself for not breaking any bones.

When I stepped out into the faint morning light, the air was brisk and heavy with fog. I would have to learn to adjust to this weather, that was for sure. I decided it beat the triple-digit temperatures in Phoenix, though—at least for running purposes. I wouldn't miss the gym and the sight of all those anorexics and meatheads clashing for each other's attention. But when it was 110 degrees out, I didn't really have a choice. I realized that I wouldn't have that problem in San Francisco, where air conditioners were non-existent.

I started running at a slow, lazy pace to loosen my muscles. I had been running marathons for three years now, and my body was somewhat accustomed these long, demanding runs. Sometimes I listened to music, and sometimes I just ran to the soundtrack in my head, which took my mind off the time and the distance. I was training more rigorously now, hoping to qualify for Boston in the spring. I didn't even know what motivated me, other than that nagging sense of insecurity about my utter lack of coordination when it came to moving my limbs.

Over the last few weeks, I had noticed more tightness in my muscles and achiness in my joints as I ran, which I blamed on the heightened intensity in my workouts. I was really trying to push myself, because I wanted this. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do this, that I could maintain a life outside of medicine and accomplish something that Bella Swan really wasn't meant to do. I loved the challenge in it.

So it worried me, as I pounded down the hill, that my whole body seemed to ache more and more with each passing stride. Push through it, I told myself. _Push through it and don't be a fucking pussy_. I often talked like this to motivate myself, and sometimes I didn't realize I was saying it out loud. I only noticed when a young mother turned around to glare at me, covering her kids' ears. Oops. Well, whatever. They would hear it all soon enough.

I stumbled on a tree root and managed to right myself before I tumbled headlong into the dirt. Shit. I felt like this was happening more often lately, maybe because I was struggling to lift my feet as high as usual. Was that it? I really hoped not, because that would mean I was adjusting my stride to compensate for all this muscle weakness.

I came to a traffic light and tried rubbing my legs, hoping to knead out the tightness. This was annoying. Really annoying. Hadn't I rested yesterday? I was eating fine and getting plenty of sleep. I wasn't particularly stressed about my new job; I was excited and eager and happy about getting to the point I had worked so hard to attain. College, med school, boards…it was a very long, very stressful road. But I had somehow managed all of it and here I was, on the cusp of my career, ready to apply those thousands of hours of drudgery to the future that I wanted more than anything.

When the light changed, I picked up my pace, hoping to just tough it out. I was running down a gentle incline, so this really shouldn't hurt. But it did. It hurt like hell, and it felt worse. I was having trouble catching my breath, too, which didn't help. I was new to the city and the weather and everything else, so maybe my whole body was just having trouble adjusting. Maybe I was worrying too much. Maybe I should just fucking suck it up and finish the run, goddammit. I ran harder.

My muscles were screaming now, and I hardly noticed when my field of vision seemed to narrow. A black fog encroached on my sight, coming from the periphery, and I squinted to block it out. I clenched my eyes shut tight for a second as I ran, but when I opened my eyes, nothing was there except the black fog and a distant ringing in my ears.

***

I woke up to shrieking alarms and bright, white lights overhead. This wasn't good. I believed I was in a hospital, but I was on the wrong side of the bed. I was in it, instead of standing over it. I was staring into the eyes of doctors and nurses, who adjusted the oxygen mask on my face. I started to panic because we didn't use this kind of mask unless someone was in serious trouble, and I couldn't be in serious trouble. I had passed out. That was it. Not enough breakfast or something similarly innocuous. My fear turned slowly into irritation.

"What is all this?" I demanded, gripping the nurse's arm. When I did so, I noticed the arterial line and the IV and countless other gadgets streaming out of me.

"Ms. Swan? Do you know where you are?"

"Dr. Swan," I corrected her, and the annoyance was rising in my voice. "I'm in the emergency room at UCSF, and I shouldn't be here," I said.

"Try to take it easy, Doctor," she said, trying to reassure me.

"Can I speak with the doctor, please?" I asked, trying to sound civil. I wanted to clear up this whole egregious misunderstanding.

"Yes, of course. Dr. Brandon will be right in."

"Thank you," I said, feeling slightly less agitated. A few moments later, a tiny, striking woman with short black hair and a beautifully kind, genuine face walked in the door. She was wearing a pinstripe suit and a white coat, her stethoscope around her neck. I immediately noticed her name embroidered over her breast pocket.

"Hello, Dr. Swan. I'm Alice Brandon, the chief resident here. I'm glad to see you're awake," she said in a cheery, confident voice.

"Please, call me Bella," I said. We were about the same age, and I immediately gravitated toward her. She seemed like a truly kind, compassionate doctor. There were so few of them these days.

"All right," she said brightly. "Well, Bella, it looks like you had a syncopal episode in the park while you were running this morning. Has this ever happened to you before?"

"No," I answered. "Never."

"Any shortness of breath?"

"A little bit when I run, but when you're running 20 miles, that's pretty normal, I would think."

She nodded. "How about asthma?"

"No, I'm not asthmatic," I replied.

"Allergies?" she asked.

"No, nothing. I'm not on any medications and I've been running marathons for years."

"Any history of HOCM in your family?"

HOCM was a genetic enlargement of the heart that often caused sudden death in young athletes. But it was passed down through families, and no one in my family had ever died suddenly from cardiac arrest. In fact, all of my grandparents were still alive, enjoying their weekly bingo games and other senior activities. All four of them were as healthy as a herd of horses.

"No. No one in my family has any respiratory or cardiac problems. No problems at all, really."

"Okay," she said, taking notes on my chart. "Well, we're waiting on a few tests to see what's going on. And I'd like to observe you overnight."

"Observe me? It was a little fainting spell. I'm fine, really."

"Bella, your oxygen saturation at admission was 86%. That's dangerously low."

Oxygen saturation measured how well my body was carrying oxygen from my lungs to the rest of my body. Normal is 99 to 100%. Once you hit 90%, you're headed for some major problems. I felt my initial panic return, because at 86%, something was seriously, dangerously wrong.

"Are you sure?" I managed, but I knew she could hear the worry in my voice. And of course she was sure—oxygen sat was ridiculously easy to monitor continuously.

She nodded.

"Don't worry, Bella. We'll get to the bottom of this. Hopefully you'll be back to running marathons in no time at all."

I didn't care so much about the marathons as my work at the General, which I was missing right now. I needed to call my attending, to let him know what had happened. And my patients, the little ones, the babies who waited in their cribs with big smiles when I came in…

I needed to get out of here.

"Okay," I sighed. "Thanks."

"How are you feeling now?" she asked.

"I'm feeling okay. Just tired, I guess," I conceded. I realized I really was tired—exhausted, actually. My whole body ached and my chest felt tight, constrained. I tried to take a deep breath and I felt like my lungs were collapsing inward. So I gave in to the crushing fatigue, and drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

When I awoke some time later, the sun had set over the city, and the room was dark. I heard a knock at my door, which stirred me from my sleepy haze. For a moment, I forgot where I was. After that moment passed, I remembered and wished I hadn't. I breathed deeply as a tall, brawny man walked into my room, clutching my chart in his large hands. His brown curly hair was cut short, and his gait was clipped, hurried. He looked like a surgeon.

"Ms. Swan?" he asked, and I didn't bother to correct him this time. He probably didn't really give a shit anyway.

"That's me," I sighed.

"I'm Emmett McCarty, chief of orthopedics here. I was called in for a consult. Is it all right with you if I examine you?"

I nodded. Wow, this guy fit every single stereotype of orthopedic surgeons: white, male, athletic, definitely wealthy. The lifestyle was so brutal that few women went into it, and it had never held any interest for me. I didn't need guys like this one busting my balls, or the fact that I didn't have any, on a daily basis.

He approached my bedside and examined my arms, legs, neck—virtually every aspect of my musculoskeletal system. I cringed in pain as he probed my sore, achy joints, but I doubted he would find anything.

"I think you should talk to a rheumatologist," he declared. "You said you've been having joint pain?"

"Yes, but I run everyday. I'm sure it's normal to have some sore joints."

"Even so, given your other symptoms, I think it would be wise to talk to one."

"Sure," I mumbled, anxious to go home. I didn't want to talk to any more doctors.

"Has Dr. Cullen been in to see you?" he asked, and my ears buzzed at the sound of the familiar name. He had somehow come up in conversation with Rosalie just a week ago; I knew of him, as did every doctor on the West Coast. Specialists often sent their patients to him as a last resort.

"No," I said. "I haven't seen him."

"Hmm. That's odd. I'll check with Dr. Brandon about that."

My throat tightened at his words. Why would he want to consult the legendary Edward Cullen unless I had something mysterious, serious, or life-threatening? And I sure as hell hoped I didn't have anything that fit into those categories.

"Could you also check with her about letting me go home?" I was sure this was well beyond his job responsibilities, since surgeons answered to no one, but I didn't care. I was irritated and miserable and wanted to go home to my tiny, familiar apartment.

He nodded. "I'll see what I can do," he said.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

I turned my head toward the window as he walked out, admiring the view from my window. This hospital was situated on a hill that overlooked the city to the east and the ocean to the west, and it rose out of the fog like some kind of kingdom in the clouds. I could see why so many physicians aspired to practice here.

I didn't even notice I had drifted off to sleep again, when a smooth, velvety voice intruded on my dreams. The room was black except for the blinking lights on the monitors, and my eyes adjusted slowly to the light when I heard someone flip the switch on the bedside table. It wasn't the main light, just the reading lamp, and it gave the room a subtle, orangey glow.

"I'm Edward Cullen," came the voice. "Are you Bella Swan?"

My eyes adjusted to the light as I absorbed the beautiful, striking features of the man sitting in a chair across from me. He was leaning back with his leg crossed lazily over his knee, his eyes a burning, penetrating green. His hair was a thick, lush bronze color that sat in a tousled mess on his head, and he brushed a few strands from his eyes. I had of course heard about Edward Cullen, and the so-called miracles he had performed. But I wasn't prepared for this man who sat so close to me, his eyes blazing into mine so intently that I felt my breath catch in my throat. My face flushed a bright pink when I realized that all of my physical reactions were being monitored on the computer screen next to him.

"What time is it?" I asked, because it was the first thing that came to my mind once I was able to tear my eyes from his face.

"It's four. I shouldn't have woken you up, but this was the most convenient time for me." His tone was blunt, and not the least bit apologetic. I should have expected it given his reputation, but the inflection in his voice still surprised me.

"I would like to go home, Dr. Cullen."

"I'm sure you would," he mused. "But I'm afraid we don't know what's wrong with you yet."

"I'm sure it's just an isolated incident," I said. "I'll cut back on my workouts and get more sleep."

I was feeling much better, and the nurses had finally removed the oxygen mask. Even my muscles felt markedly improved, and I was anxious to get the hell out of here.

"What do you do?" he asked, but I couldn't tell if he cared at all what I did.

"I'm a pediatrician, but I run several marathons a year."

"I see," he said, and he was looking at me with a strange look on his face, as though he knew something I did not.

"Look, just let me go home. If something happens again, I'll come back."

"Doctors make the worst patients," he commented. "But, of course, I can't keep you here. If you drop dead, it won't be my fault."

I cringed at the bluntness in his words. "I don't expect to drop dead," I retorted, emphasizing the word "dead." Most doctors avoided every version of death, dead, dying, and deceased that existed in the English language. Apparently, Edward Cullen didn't believe in mincing any words.

"Then go," he said. "Go and enjoy the life of a pediatrican."

"Excuse me?" I asked, uncertain if I had even heard him right.

"Never mind," he grumbled. But I wasn't going to let this slide, even if I was dealing with this man who instilled fear in every resident who toiled under him.

"What's so wrong about working with sick kids?" I prodded. "Children have higher cure rates than adults. Children get better."

"Children annoy me, as a physician and as a professional," he said, his expression unreadable.

"Children _annoy_ you?" I asked, incredulous.

"Seriously," he said. "Never mind."

"Don't you treat any children, Dr. Cullen?" I stuttered. "Don't you derive _some _pleasure from seeing kids get better?"

"Our motivations are different, Dr. Swan. Forget I said anything," he said, and he sounded mildly irritated, like I had touched a nerve. And now he was conceding the argument, as though it meant nothing to him. As though arguing about it was an ultimate waste of time, because he didn't give a shit about children and didn't want to engage in a meaningless discussion about them. Did he give a shit about anyone?

"Fine," I said with a huff. "Can I please leave in the morning?"

"I have your discharge papers here, if that's what you want. All of your tests came back normal."

"Well, great. Then I can go home."

"Just so you know, Dr. Swan," and he emphasized the title before my name, "I don't think everything is normal. I think something is very wrong with you."

"And what makes you think that, if every one of my tests is normal? A hunch? I don't have time for hunches," I sighed.

I didn't often get so riled up about things like this, but he was really rubbing me the wrong way. I exhaled sharply as he stood up.

"Then best of luck with everything," he said, as he signed my chart and placed it at my bedside. He turned and began to walk from the room as my face reddened for no particular reason and a frown darkened my face.

"One last question, Doctor," he said, turning around to face me. "Who is Rosalie Hale?"

My breathing stalled at the sound of her name. Rosalie had mentioned me to him? Why? When? I hadn't spoken to her in days. She wouldn't answer her phone, and there was no one at her house.

"Rosalie is a close friend," I stammered. "May I ask why you're asking?"

"No reason," he said.

My face flushed in a combination of anger and frustration, as I tried to hold his gaze, mesmerized by the dark intelligence in his eyes. I was flustered and he knew it, but he said nothing as he walked out, leaving me alone in this dark, sterile room.


	3. Good Pastures

**A/N**: I think I'm going to start writing shorter chapters so I can update more often...we'll see how it goes.

Please review if you can - it's the best thing you can do for a new writer's confidence! :) Thanks to all those who have been reading.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Twilight, or anything worth more than $800 (I splurged on a nice TV so I can freezeframe Rob when the DVD comes out).

***

**Chapter 3: Good Pastures  
**

**EPOV**

I woke up on a cot in the on-call room, feeling like shit. It was after four when I left Bella Swan's room, and I didn't feel like going home after that. I wasn't sure what my problem was, or why her whole ordeal bothered me at all. But it did, and I had taken it out on her career choice, and I felt like an asshole. I couldn't relate to pediatricians. At all. They treated their patients like their own kids; they knew their names, what schools they went to, and what they had for breakfast that morning. But how could you stand to watch a patient die if you knew them, cared about them, fought for them? How could you live with yourself if you failed them?

People like Bella Swan pissed me off because they had that capability, and I did not. Who knows where she got it from—maybe a perfect childhood, cookie-cutter parents, an oddly benign personality. None of those descriptions seemed to fit her for some reason, but I had to force it because I hated exceptions to my rules. I hated the rules and I hated her, because she made me question a system that always worked.

In any case, it didn't matter now. Another patient, another case, another life walking out my door with something I couldn't diagnose because she wouldn't let me. I couldn't save those people. And if they didn't care, than neither did I.

I swung my legs over the pathetic excuse for a mattress onto the cold, linoleum floor. As soon as I entered the hallway, Brandon was there with a boisterous smile and a handful of charts.

"Good morning, Brandon," I grumbled.

"Good morning!" she replied, so cheerily that it made my head throb. She had a thing for mornings. I did not.

"Michael Newton is in Room 2. Did you see him yesterday?"

"No," I grumbled again.

"Well, I'm going to see him now. Would you mind coming along?"

I grunted an unenthusiastic yes, and I followed Brandon down the bustling hallway. I realized I should have tried taming my hair somehow, but whatever. Professionalism had never been my strong point.

"Hello, Mr. Newton," she said, extending her hand to the young, irritated guy on the bed. He had rock star hair and a clear antipathy toward hospital gowns, because he was sitting there in his Gucci pants and fancy t-shirt.

"What the fuck took so long?" he demanded. "I've been in here since last night, and you people take your sweet time. Do you know what kind of a schedule I'm on?"

"Excuse me?" Brandon said, looking ambushed. The smile disappeared from her face, and even my mood darkened. Who was this asshole?

"Forget it," he grumbled. "When can I get the hell out of here?"

"When I say you can, asshole," I said, and Brandon's face flushed in embarrassment. I wasn't going to stand for this kind of treatment, especially when it was directed at one of my residents.

"And who the fuck are you?" he asked.

"I'm your doctor. Who the fuck are you?"

He scoffed and looked at me like I was some kind of moron.

"Can't you read, Doctor?" he sneered. "I'm Michael Newton."

"What's that to me?" I asked, sheer acid in my voice.

"Come on," he said, turning to Brandon. "This guy doesn't know who I am?"

"Am I supposed to know who you are?" I retorted. "This is my ER and you're the visitor, remember?"

"Yeah, clearly you spend all your free time in here, which is pathetic," he commented.

"Mr. Newton is, um, the next Zac Efron," Brandon muttered to me, then forced a smile at this pathetic excuse for a patient. "At least, that's how he described himself."

"Fuck yeah, I am. And I don't deserve this kind of treatment."

"Okay, hold up a second here, _Mike_," I sneered. "I don't give a fuck who you are, and this isn't the Four Seasons. According to your chart, you've been pissing blood for a week. Well, shame on you for waiting so long to come in here, because you'll probably never get it up again."

That was a complete lie, of course, but this pansy didn't know that. And the one thing he cared more about than money was his dick.

A look of horror spread across his face, and Brandon stifled a smile. She stood there looking as composed as possible, and I continued to glower at Michael Newton and his $2,000 t-shirt.

"Look, what's wrong with me?" he uttered. I had definitely taken this prick down a few notches with that insult to his manhood.

"How should I know? You're so rude to the staff that no one wants to deal with you," I said simply. And that was probably true.

"Listen, man, you have to do something. I feel like shit and I need to get back on the set tomorrow. Okay?"

"Again, why should I care? The guy in the room next to you needs to get back to flipping burgers at In-N'-Out tomorrow, and that's important, too. Do you think I give a shit about your timeline?"

He seemed to sink a little lower, and I knew I had broken him at this point. Brandon handed me his chart, and I looked it over as he stared at us, waiting for an instant answer. These people were all the same. I much preferred the patients who made less in their lifetimes than this guy did in a day.

Unfortunately for him, the labs and x-rays in his chart didn't look too promising. He had come in here pissing blood, but his lungs were compromised, too. Well, shit. This wasn't good. I had seen this condition once or twice before, and the prognosis was worrisome.

He must have seen my expression change, because when I glanced up, he looked downright panicked.

"Brandon, can I talk with you for a second?" I said, and she read the seriousness in my tone. "Outside?"

"Of course," she said. "Mr. Newton, we'll be right back."

She stole a glance at poor Mike, who was white as a sheet. Something told me he wasn't thinking about that film set right now.

"Wait a minute," he rasped. "Please tell me what's going on."

"I think you owe Dr. Brandon an apology first," I said.

He looked up at her with fear in his eyes, and for a second, I pitied him. He most likely had a chronic, potentially fatal disease, and his whole life was about to change.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Am I dying?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," I said, and motioned for Brandon to follow me out the door. I pulled her aside and made sure the door was closed.

"Well?" I asked. "Any ideas?" I had a diagnosis in mind, but I wanted to hear her thought process.

"It looks like Goodpasture's," she said. "The hemoptysis, hematuria, smoking history..."

"I agree. This guy's a prick, but…do the best you can, Brandon. I know it's not easy to deliver bad news."

She glanced down at the chart and back up at me, and she hesitated before she spoke. This wasn't like her, and it unnerved me.

"I'll talk to him," she finally said.

"It's treatable, for the most part. And his kidneys are in decent shape. He'll be all right."

She nodded, but something else was bothering her. She shifted a little bit, and when she spoke, her assertive, doctorly voice was replaced by the one she used with patients.

"Thank you for standing up for me," she said softly. "I appreciated that."

Brandon's words took me by surprise, probably because I never stood up for anyone. Shit. Was I losing my touch?

"Not a problem," I grunted. "Are we finished here?"

"Yes," she said. "I'll come by your office later today."

"Fine."

She smiled politely at me, as she always did, and started her trek down the hall.

"Hey, Brandon?" I called, before I could stop myself.

"Yes?"

"Don't ever let anyone talk to you like that again. Ever."

Her face brightened, but she merely nodded because she knew that any response she made would probably just irritate me. And hell, this was all the protectiveness I could take for one day. But as Brandon disappeared down the hall, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed, that _I_ had changed.

And I had felt it this morning, when I got out of bed, replaying the previous night in my mind. I don't know why I did it, because I never did it. I never thought twice about patients, whether I saw them once or a hundred times, or if they lived or died. Medicine was my profession. It wasn't personal.

I told myself that as I walked up to her room on the eighth floor, because I was her doctor and we needed to resolve the rather unfortunate discussion of the previous night. I wouldn't apologize, because I never apologized to patients. If I did something wrong, then they'd be suing me, not asking for my forgiveness. So this was standard procedure, and I needed to see her once more before I could erase this nagging encounter from my mind. Permanently.

When I opened the door to her room, a short, bubbly nurse bumped into my chest, and I shot her a harsh, glowering look.

"Oh, um, pardon me, Dr. Cullen. Is there a new admit coming in? I was just prepping the room."

"What?" I scanned the room and the empty bed.

"For...the...new admit," she stuttered.

"Was the patient in here moved?"

"No, Doctor, she left this morning. Was it against medical advice? I thought I saw her discharge papers..."

"No, it's fine," I muttered. "Nevermind."

"Okay, Doctor," she mumbled, and tried to maneuver her way out the door.

"Wait a second," I said, stopping her cold. She looked a little frightened. Did I do this to all people?

"Yes, Doctor?" she said in a tiny voice.

"What's that?"

I gestured toward the small bag in her hand, and she looked at me quizzically.

"Just some personal effects, Doctor. One of the nurses can get in touch with the patient if she wants them returned."

"I'll take care of it," I said, without any foresight whatsoever. What the fuck was I doing? Hadn't I just told myself _two minutes ago_ that this wasn't personal?

"It's really not a problem--"

"I've got it," I said gruffly. She flinched, and handed me the little ziplock bag.

I wasn't going to look in the bag, and I wasn't going to call the patient. But if Bella Swan came back to this hospital looking for the things she left behind, she would have to come through me.

***

**Edward's conflicted...as usual.  
**

**Please review. Thanks!  
**


	4. Moral Support

**A/N**: I met a little girl just like the one in this story - it broke my heart!

Please review! Thanks for reading!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Twilight.

***

**Chapter 4: Moral Support**

**BPOV**

As soon as I possibly could, I got the hell out of that hospital room. I felt a little tired, but otherwise fine. I didn't give a shit about Edward Cullen's scare tactics; if my tests were normal, then I was fine. And if I wasn't fine, then there wasn't much anyone could do for me, because it's pretty damn hard to come up with a diagnosis if nothing appears to be wrong. In most cases of random illnesses or problems, the answer is stress.

And maybe I _was_ stressed, or at least more than I thought. This little escapade into the ER didn't make matters any better, that was for sure.

I practically ran up the hill to my house when I finally got off the train, and decided that I would just head straight to work. It was 7 am, and rounds were in an hour. I could make it.

I showered and dressed quickly, and sprinted out the door with a half hour to spare. The crowds on the train were just beginning to build, but I never really minded. I enjoyed the morning commute in a busy city; I just watched people get on and off the train, guessing where they were going, what they did. I did this in the hospital, too, where people's emotions ran the complete spectrum: relief, shock, joy, despair. If you took the time to look, you could learn a lot about your patients that way.

When I arrived at SFGH just a few minutes to 8, I raced to the ER and found my attending, waiting impatiently by the nurse's station. I saw most of the members of his team, but he was waiting for a few people. At least I wasn't late.

"Ah, Bella," he said. "We missed you yesterday."

Dr. Denali was a kind, old man, but definitely eccentric. I never knew what was going to come out of his mouth.

"I know, I really apologize," I said. I had talked to him yesterday about the whole fiasco, but I still felt the need to apologize in person.

"Not to worry," he said. "You just made some of your patients very unhappy when you didn't come in. They get attached, you know."

I smiled sadly. They weren't the only ones who got attached.

The rest of the team finally showed up, and we made our way through the wards, checking in on the day's patients. We saw everything here, including some very troubling, very sad cases. It wasn't uncommon to see a child here without her parents, who couldn't afford to miss a day of work. I tried to spend extra time with those kids.

When our rounds ended an hour later, I looked at my list of patients and made my way from room to room. I was frequently interrupted, as always—people asking questions, needing my signature, consulting on cases. Patients always complained about how little time they actually saw with the doctor, and this was why. I was just a resident, so I had to answer to the senior doctors, but I did the best I could to sit with the kids and their families, for as long as I could.

The last patient on my list was a little Down Syndrome girl, a three-year-old whose parents I hadn't seen since she was admitted four days ago. I knocked gently on her door, and she was in her crib, humming softly.

"Hey, Maria," I said, reaching in to lift her out. She was miserable from all the IV's and wires and everything else, but her whole face lit up at the first touch of my fingers. She giggled happily when I handed her a new toy, and I rocked her in my lap in the stark, sterile room. My heart broke for her, because I was all she had for today, and every day that she had been here.

A gentle knock came at the door, and I tensed. One of the older, grumpier nurses didn't seem to like the fact that I did this, like I was intruding on her territory. Well, whatever. This little one was my patient, too.

But it wasn't the nurse. It was Rosalie.

"Rosalie?! I've been trying to contact you for days!" I exclaimed, and that was true.

"Really? I'm sorry, Bella. My phone…broke," she explained weakly.

"Your phone broke?! And what the hell happened to your face?" I saw the purplish bruises around her left eye, and the deep cut along her jaw. Her face was still stunningly beautiful, but mangled.

"It's a long story," she mumbled.

"I even went by your house, Rosalie. You weren't there, either. I was so worried about you," I said, exasperated.

"I'm sorry, Bella. It really is a long story. I'll tell you…when I can."

"Tell me now," I said firmly.

"I can't," she said, her blue eyes pleading.

"Sit down," I demanded. I gestured to the seat next to me, while Maria shifted in my lap, humming and smiling, completely oblivious to the tension in the room.

"I came to see you yesterday, too," she said. "But you weren't here."

"Yeah," I mumbled. "I had a bit of an episode."

"What kind of episode?"

"I fainted while running. Nothing major."

"You fainted? What happened?"

"Rosalie, don't try and turn this on me. What the hell happened to you?"

She was fidgeting nervously, stalling. I had known Rosalie since high school, and she never had a problem getting words out.

"I…fell," she said. "Down the stairs."

"Jeezus, Rosalie, that's the oldest excuse in the book for getting pummeled in the face. Don't lie to me," I said harshly, because I was really worried now, and I didn't know how else to get through to her.

"But I really did fall down the stairs! I mean, he pushed me, I guess…and I fell," she mumbled. "But I swear to God, Bella, it only happened this one time!"

"Who the fuck pushed you?" I said, my voice scathing. Not at Rosalie, but the prick who did this.

"At work…it happened at work."

Rosalie had a gorgeous body, and she used it to support herself and a few other essential people in her life. She worked at a fairly upscale club in the city, at least according to her—I had never actually been there. And I knew nothing about the dirty details of who she worked for, or what she owed them. Rosalie always refused to tell me anything.

"Was it someone you work for? A customer?"

"Bella, I can't talk about this. And it doesn't matter, it's fine. I just need a medical opinion about something."

"I'm your friend, not your doctor." My tone was urgent, concerned.

"Please, Bella," she pleaded, and it sounded so pathetic coming from her bruised lips that I felt my anger give way to guilt. What kind of friend allowed something like this to happen? And why hadn't she come to me sooner?

"Okay, but please, Rosalie. You have to tell me who did this to you, and exactly how it happened. I can't help you medically if I don't know the truth."

She exhaled sharply, searching my eyes for understanding. I said nothing and waited for her to start.

"I was arguing with my…supervisor," she began, although I had a feeling she was sugarcoating that last word. "He wanted me to offer more…services."

"Rosalie, you don't have to give me the PG version."

"I know, but you know what I mean," she sighed. "I need the money, but I'm not a whore, Bella. There's a difference between stripping and whoring."

I cringed at the edge in her voice, especially the way she used those labels so casually. I saw plenty of prostitutes in this hospital, but Rosalie was right, stripping was an entirely different thing. It was legal, for one thing, and sex wasn't involved.

"I know that," I said.

"But it's no secret that the guys who run the club also pimp out girls on the side. So we had an argument, and…this happened."

"Did he hit you?" I asked, because it sure looked like it.

"Is that important?" she asked, glancing down at her hands.

"I'm worried about you, Rosalie. It doesn't matter how it happened, but it matters that you get yourself the hell out of there."

"I can't, Bella. I need the money and I'm good at what I do."

"I know you are, but it's not worth it," I said truthfully. I wasn't thrilled with Rosalie's profession, but it wasn't my place to say much—until now.

"Will my face look normal again?" she asked.

I looked at her carefully. It didn't look like it would scar, but I couldn't be positive. A large part of me wanted it to scar, so that her boss or whoever the fuck it was would fire her.

"Yes, most likely," I said.

"Okay, well I have another problem, too," she mumbled. "I think my knee is fucked up."

"What's wrong with it?"

"The unhappy triad or something."

I gave her a quizzical expression, wondering where the hell Rosalie Hale had come up with some random medical terminology like the 'unhappy triad.'

"Let me see," I said.

She jutted her leg out, and I did the standard test for a torn ACL. Well, shit, she definitely _had_ busted the unhappy triad. And the expression on her face told me she already knew that.

"Who told you that phrase?" I asked.

"A doctor."

"Where?"

"At the hospital."

"For God's sake, Rosalie, can you stop being so difficult? Just tell me who."

She sighed, and her fidgeting hands traveled to the long locks of blond hair that fell down the front of her shoulders.

"That doctor you talked about. Edward Cullen," she said.

My heart actually skipped a beat when his name sounded in my ears, from anger or annoyance or surprise, I wasn't sure which.

"You were in the hospital at UC?" I asked. "When?"

"Last week…"

"Rosalie, you should have told me!"

"I didn't want you to do something drastic while I was in there," she muttered.

"Listen, that Cullen guy said I would need surgery and nine months to recover. Isn't there something else you could do, Bella? I don't have insurance and I can't just sit on my ass for nine months!"

Then, suddenly, it clicked in my head. I remembered Edward Cullen's parting words—he had mentioned Rosalie. He had asked me about her, and I was too flustered and annoyed to think about why. He knew who I was when he met me. He had _ambushed_ me, and in a truly maddening fashion, he knew I would realize it as soon as I talked to Rosalie.

"What is it, Bella?" she asked, reading the anger in my expression.

"Nothing," I huffed. "The only treatment for an ACL tear is surgery. Just make sure you find a good one."

"Bella, didn't you hear what I just said?! I can't afford that! Don't you know anyone who can help me?"

"I'm not a surgeon, Rosalie!" I said exasperatedly. And I didn't know any surgeons who just handed out their skills for free. Medicine didn't work that way, unfortunately.

"What about Edward Cullen? Isn't he a surgeon?" she asked. "He knows I know you. Maybe he'll help me."

"What?!" I exclaimed. "No, don't go to that asshole. He's a prick and wouldn't give you a bedpan for free if you asked him."

"But you spoke highly of him before," she said. "I remembered that in the hospital and asked for him."

"Well, I was wrong. I'll find you a surgeon, somehow."

"You said he's the best," she pressed.

My face reddened in exasperation. "I don't actually _know _him," I said.

"But he knows me, Bella! I'll just make an appointment, and you can come with me."

"No, definitely not," I said.

"Please, Bella? You promised you would help me," she pleaded. Did she really just pull the 'you promised' card?

"I'll…think about it," I grumbled. "But I'm telling you, Edward Cullen wouldn't do shit for free."

"Well, maybe he knows someone who would."

"I doubt it," I groaned. "Look, Rosalie, I know you're worried about your career. But you have much more pressing problems." I gave her a hard, burning stare, making sure she knew exactly what I was talking about.

"I don't have a choice, Bella," she said in a tiny voice. I sighed, because I didn't know what else to say to her.

"When is your next shift?" I asked.

"Tonight," she mumbled.

"Then I'm going with you."

"No!" she exclaimed, looking panicked. "You can't do that, Bella."

"I am," I said. "And don't even think about arguing with me."

***

**Edward's POV next chapter...**


	5. Hydrostatic Pressure

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! I have a loose outline for this story, but I'd love some feedback!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own these fictional people.

***

**Chapter 5: Hydrostatic Pressure  
**

**EPOV**

It was mid-afternoon, and I was sitting at my desk, resisting every urge to look inside the little Ziplock bag I had shoved to the back of the drawer. I would probably get in some kind of trouble for this, but I didn't give a shit. Not my problem…for the moment, anyway.

Suddenly, my beeper started buzzing, and I looked down with a groan. Must be important. No one ever paged me unless it was important. I recognized the number and dialed it from my phone, and waited for his voice on the line.

"Edward," came the deep, thick voice, sounding rushed. He was always in a hurry, but he made more money than anyone in this hospital, so he had no right to complain.

"To what do I owe the interruption, Emmett?" I asked dryly.

We had gone through med school together, which counted for something, I guess. He was an orthopedic surgeon, fixing people's knees and hips and shit like that. I didn't find it very glamorous, but he did.

"Are you working tonight?" he asked.

"Why?" I asked cautiously.

"I'm off at 9. Let's go out," he said.

"Like a date?" I asked in a bored, mildly amused tone.

"Shut up, man. I've been working long hours, and I need to release some tension."

"By taking me to a fancy restaurant and getting me all liquored up?"

"Look, Edward, I'm trying to do you a favor here."

Yeah, clearly.

"How's that?" I asked.

"When's the last time you got some?"

That information was confidential, and Emmett knew it, but he tried anyway. In any case, I didn't need the bar scene to satisfy my baser instincts.

"Shit, Emmett, you don't need me to be your wingman. If you feel like tapping ass, then just stand out on the street in your white coat, and you won't have any problems."

"Yeah, but that's boring."

"So is the San Francisco nightlife."

"Are you always this fucking difficult?" he asked, sounding exasperated. "You weren't such a buzz-kill in med school."

I groaned, remembering the lame-ass med school parties and post-exam drinking binges. Med school was fun, sure, but I wasn't 23 anymore.

"Okay, whatever," I said. "Just…come find me at nine."

And before I could hear him gloat about wearing me down, I hung up the phone and walked out into the crowded halls.

***

The wards were more chaotic than usual, probably due to that fucking Bay to Breakers ordeal that took place once a year, where people ran drunk and naked through Golden Gate Park to the ocean. The first time I saw it, I was mildly amused, but now it just irritated me to see all these stupid, wasted revelers filling my emergency room. I groaned as one of them handed me a beer, and then a joint, and then a condom. At least someone was having fun.

As I was standing around the waiting room, examining a pot brownie, Jasper Whitlock came walking up to me, looking oddly relaxed.

"Dr. Cullen," he gasped, "I was looking for you."

"Edward," I said. "You can call me Edward."

"Oh," he exhaled, looking mildly confused. "But Alice calls you Doctor—"

"Yeah, she insists. Honestly, I don't give a fuck what people call me, as long as it isn't Eddie."

"Right," he said, looking totally confused now. "In any case, I have to ask you something."

"Uh…okay," I said, tapping my foot, as though I had something better to do.

"Is Dr. Brandon…um…"

"Is she what?" I asked impatiently.

"Nevermind," he said.

"Jeezus, man, what is it? Is she married? Because no, she's not. And I don't know anything about her sexual proclivities either."

He seemed a little taken aback by my sudden outburst, but I knew exactly what he was interested in. People lied all the time, even when their lives depended on it. I had just spared him the trouble of making something up to spare his ego.

He sighed. "Uh, okay. Thanks."

"Are you in the market for a lady friend?" I asked, because I was bored, and because I kind of wanted to know what this guy's intentions were with my chief resident.

"Not really…" he lied.

"Right."

"Okay, look," he said, glaring at me. "I'm just trying to get to know her better, and…I don't know, you seem to know her pretty well."

I didn't know where the hell he came up with that, but if Alice liked me, then she was even more eccentric than I thought. And this guy had balls, talking to me like this. He had known me for what, a day?

"I don't," I snapped.

"All right, nevermind then," he said. "It's her birthday Friday, did you know that?"

"Am I supposed to care?" I asked.

"You're kind of an asshole," he snorted, his blue eyes seething.

"Look, Jasper, I think you're a decent guy, okay? I just…I try not to get involved in my colleague's personal lives."

I suddenly did feel like a jerk, which pissed me off. I really was getting soft.

"Why?" he asked, and his question startled me. I don't know, why the fuck would I?

"Because I work with them…"

"So?" he asked, and I started to wonder who was the boss in this conversation.

"What are you getting at?" I asked, annoyance rising in my voice.

"Why don't you come out with the residents for Alice's birthday?"

"What?"

Had I actually heard him right? Who the hell invited their new boss to a social outing that involved alcohol?

"We're going to Delfina's in the Castro. Nothing too fancy."

"Uh, because none of the residents want to deal with me anywhere outside this hospital."

"Alice does," he protested. This guy had an answer for everything.

"Then why didn't she ask me herself?"

"She seems like the type who can't handle rejection," he mused.

I started to feel slightly guilty again, because Alice's instincts were right—I definitely would have shot her down. But Jasper was so fucking insistent, and he testing my patience like a diabetic who refuses to quit the donuts.

"What time?" I asked, before I knew what I was saying.

His eyes widened a bit, and then a satisfied grin spread across his face.

"Eight," he said. "Friday. Delfina's. Bring wine."

And then he turned and walked off, before I had a chance to register the most bizarre, unlikely exchange in all my years as an attending. Because to this guy, I wasn't the boss—I was something else entirely.

And I didn't know what the hell to make of it.

***

At precisely nine, because surgeons were punctual like that, Emmett strolled into my office, looking dapper in his white button-down and black slacks.

"Targeting the corporate crowd, eh?" I smirked.

"Is there another crowd?" he asked, looking confused.

"I guess we'll find out," I said, rolling my eyes. "Let's go."

I grabbed my jacket off the chair, and we slipped out the back hallway, hoping to avoid the ogling eyes of the young nurses and residents. Some of them had followed us once before, and that had not gone well.

We walked out into a cold, windy rain, but Emmett had called a cab—of course—and we made it downtown in pristine condition. We ended up at a swanky club in North Beach, one of Emmett's favorite haunts.

The bar was crowded for a Wednesday, but hardly overwhelming. I ordered my usual gin and tonic, and he ordered something ridiculously strong and nasty, and we made our way over to a table by the window. Within a few minutes, a flock of scantily-clad twenty-somethings walked over to us, their fruity drinks in hand. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but just barely. Emmett loved this shit.

Two of them tried their lines on me, but I was content to just sit there for a few minutes and watch Emmett impress the ladies with his stories about torn ligaments and broken bones. I drank my cocktail in silence, nodding at the right points in conversation, but mostly just listening with a mildly amused look on my face.

I did this for about an hour, when I started feeling bored. I told Emmett I was stepping outside for some air, and he nodded distractedly, completely absorbed in conversation with the three randos.

I stepped outside into the cool air, watching as the street hummed with late-night activity. North Beach was a strange, eclectic place, a mix of classy bars, swanky lounges, and gentleman's clubs. I never frequented those, but I had patients who did. And it wasn't pretty.

As I stood there on the curb, watching the rain as it fell, I heard a high-pitched shriek from somewhere across the street. A tall, striking blonde stumbled out of the front door of a club, banging the door with her fists the as it closed behind her. I strained my eyes for a better look, because I _recognized_ this woman. I couldn't see her face, but she was limping, and I could diagnose it from here…

Holy shit, it was Rosalie Hale. And she was kicking at the door, shouting a name that made my blood hum in my veins.

Bella.

***

**Please review! Thanks! :)**


	6. Club Foot

**A/N**: Sorry for the delay, guys! Major test on kidneys today, and majorly not fun. But I'll try and update more frequently from now on!

Uh...yeah, I called this chapter Club Foot, because I've been to a shady bar of the same name in Chicago, and I thought it was funny (and sort of relevant...).

Thanks for reading and please review! Reviews are better than facebook wall messages, and believe me, I get really excited about those.

***

**Chapter 6: Club Foot**

**EPOV**

I just stood there in the rain for a few seconds, frozen in some kind of disbelief. I tried to convince myself that it wasn't Rosalie Hale kicking on the door of a strip club, and that it wasn't Bella Swan's name she was calling. A thousand possibilities raced through my mind, all of them too bizarre to even consider. Why the hell would a pediatrician be hanging out a strip club?

I turned around to see Emmett still sitting in the bar, surrounded by alcohol and sloppy women. I doubted he really gave a shit about me at this point, but then again, I couldn't just…leave. Could I? Did I want to leave?

Rosalie's anger had turned into a series of choked, muffled cries, and I felt like a tool standing here across the street, watching her pound her fists against the door like she was a kid that got locked out of the sandbox. This wasn't my problem. I didn't want to get involved.

But I was getting involved.

I stepped out into the cold, hard rain, and dodged a few screeching cabs to get to her. This was a truly stupid, moronic idea on so many levels, but I was already here, drenched, mildly intoxicated, and completely involved in this mess.

Rosalie looked up just long enough to see me standing beside her, and I wondered for a second if she even knew who I was. I didn't say anything, because I didn't know what the hell I was supposed to say. I didn't know what the hell I was even doing here.

"Who the—" she started, squinting her eyes in the rain. "Dr. Cullen?!"

"I heard you screaming from across the street," I muttered, in as flat a tone as I could manage. But my heart was racing like a freight train, and I hadn't felt like this since my first day in the ER.

"Look," she said between sobs. "You have to help me here. My friend is in there and they won't let me back in!"

"Why is she in there?" I asked, fearing the answer just a bit. I couldn't picture Bella Swan working in a place like this, but I guess I had seen weirder things.

"She was trying to help me!" she shrieked.

"Do you two…work here?" I felt like an asshole asking this, but I had to know.

"No! _I _work here. Or I did…"

"Oh." I felt slightly more relieved, but considerably more confused.

"Look, can you please just go in there and get her? Tell them I screwed up and she shouldn't even be involved."

Shit. I did _not _want to go into this shady place, especially in this neighborhood. But I must have known I would, as soon as I stepped foot off that curb and came running over here. I should have thought about it then.

"Edward!"

I turned around to see Emmett, standing with two girls at each side, looking confused. His eyes darted to Rosalie, and back to me, and one of his eyebrows went up.

"This isn't…I'm not…" I stammered. This did not look good.

"Hey, man, I was just coming to look for you. I'm just going to hail a cab—"

"No, wait."

I turned my back to Rosalie and walked over to him, glaring at the two skanks on each of his arms. Jeezus, Emmett. You could do better.

"Can you excuse us, please?" I sneered at them, not caring about the major pussy I had just ruined for Emmett.

Emmett gave me a death glare, but I didn't give a shit.

"What is your problem, man?" he growled.

"I'm in a bit of a situation here…"

"Yeah, clearly."

"I know this girl…not from this club…she was a patient…"

"Is there a point to this, Edward?"

"Just…talk to her, okay?" I looked back at Rosalie, who was shivering in the rain. "I need to go in there and find someone."

"Is this where you pick up the ladies?" he asked, more seriously than I would have liked. I wasn't going to dignify that with a response.

"Just do it, Emmett."

Emmett knew the sound of a command, especially one that came from me. He didn't argue.

I knocked loudly on the front door, and was greeted by a jumbo-sized bouncer that looked like a cross between Mr. T and Vin Diesel. I was not amused.

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked.

"Yeah, I need to get in here."

"We're closing soon," he thundered.

"Will this get me five minutes?"

I shoved a fifty in his face, because I didn't feel like parting with my hundreds at the moment. We were in a recession, after all.

"Barely," he grumbled.

"Thanks," I sneered.

I didn't even look back at Rosalie and Emmett as I stepped inside, surveying the crimson carpet and black walls. I hadn't been in one of these places in, well, a very long time, and I immediately remembered why. It smelled of sweat and sex and lust, and not in a good way.

As I walked down the hall into the open room, a few mostly-naked women and some very drunk men eyed me suspiciously. Clearly I wasn't drunk or old or ugly enough for this place, judging by the crowd.

"You looking for someone?"

A high-pitched drawl came from behind me, and I saw a girl standing there, her breasts completely on display, her hands on her hips. I managed to keep my eyes on her face, just to annoy her. Or to keep myself focused—I wasn't sure which.

"Yeah, I'm looking for the boss of this place. Where is he?"

"He's in his office," she drawled. "Back there."

She pointed toward the hallway behind me, gesturing toward the end of it.

"Thanks," I muttered.

"Uh huhhh," she leered. Ugh.

Because I had only four minutes left, I hurried down the hallway, surprised to see that the office door was open. At the last second, I stopped myself from just barging in and stood beside the open door, listening to the sounds coming from within.

As soon as I heard Bella's soft, familiar voice, my breath caught in my throat. My reaction shocked the hell out of me, especially since I barely knew this person. Then again, I was standing here in this strip club for this person I barely knew. Nothing was making a whole lot of sense right now.

"I'm her doctor, and she can't perform anymore," Bella said, as authoritatively as her sweet voice would allow.

"Whatever, _Doctor_," he sneered. "In any case, you don't need your knees to fuck."

Jeezus, this asshole got right to the point. How the hell could she argue with that?

"That's not her job, sir," Bella argued. "Rosalie is not a prostitute."

"Well, it looks like she is now, by default."

"Is she in debt or something?" Bella asked. "Is this a financial issue?"

"I think that is between me and my employee," he rasped. I hadn't seen this guy, but I pictured a fat, dirty bastard one cigarette away from emphysema.

"I'm representing your employee."

"As what? Her fucking doctor? I don't need any medical advice regarding my girls."

"Then what do you need? What do you want? I can pay her debt, if she owes—"

"You want to pay her debt, then you come work for me. You got potential," he said, cackling. I wondered how soon I could have this guy arrested. I had saved the lives of enough cops to bring this establishment down in a day.

"Fine," Bella said, and I fucking choked on air. I heard a chair screech, followed by silence_. Uh oh_.

I waited a few seconds, but nothing happened. I started to breathe again, but just barely, because Bella had just sold her soul to this sack of shit.

"Good. I'll be in touch," he said, as though she had just agreed to a car rental. "Now get out of my club."

I heard the chair screech again, and I backed up against the door, praying she wouldn't see me. Fortunately, she rushed out the door without even looking up, although she stumbled halfway down the hall. Even then, she didn't look up, or down, or around. She just pushed the door open, and walked out into the night.

And I was left standing there, dazed by the thick scent of strawberries in her hair, my body rigid with anger and disbelief. I had met a lot of cocksuckers in my day, but this one would pay.

"Got a minute?" I asked, swinging myself around the frame and into his crap office.

"What the fuck do you want?" he sneered.

"I'm here to invalidate your previous business dealings, and to tell you to stay the fuck away from both of those girls."

He laughed, a hard, raspy, derisive laugh that made me think of old gangster movies. It smelled like booze and pot and musk in here, and it made me nauseous.

"Is that so?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's so. I'll have this place shut down tomorrow if you so much as breathe their names again."

"And what are you, the chief of police?"

"Close," I said, and I could see his façade begin to crumble, just a bit.

"You don't believe me, then take your chances, asshole. I know the chief of police, I know the mayor, I know half the fucking police force, and don't ask me how I know them, because you don't want to know."

"You don't know shit," he spat.

"Fine, then I'll give him a buzz right now—"

"No, wait," he said, suddenly nervous. "Look, I don't need those girls. Rosalie was a drag, and that other girl was too…shy for my taste. But Rosalie does owe me money—"

"She doesn't owe you shit."

He looked at me, studying me, reacting to my voice like any other person would. He backed down, because I wasn't bullshitting him, and he knew it. I was, in fact, on personal terms with the mayor (heart attack), the police chief (small cell carcinoma), and half the police force (hypertension, diabetes, etcetera). And no matter what the hell this guy concocted to placate me, I would have him shut down anyway. San Francisco didn't need scum like this.

"Do we have an understanding then?" I asked, just for the hell of it.

"Get out of my office," he said.

"Fuck you," I spat. "Do we, or do we not?"

"We do," he mumbled.

"What was that?" I asked,

"We do! Now get the fuck out of here!" he bellowed, and a satisfied grin found its way to my face.

"Good," I said. And I walked out, slamming the door behind me.

***

**Hmm, some Edward/Bella, Emmett/Rosalie interaction coming up? We'll see.**

**Thanks for reading!  
**


	7. Walking Pneumonia

**A/N: **Thanks for reading and reviewing - it means a lot to me to hear from you!

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Twilight.

***

**Chapter 7: Walking Pneumonia**

**BPOV**

A cold, hard rain was falling by the time I stumbled out the front door and into the night. Rosalie was standing on the sidewalk, her blond hair matted against her shoulders, her whole body trembling from the cold. But she had a long, black trench coat draped over her frame, and she was huddled under a large umbrella with someone who looked vaguely familiar. I was too flustered by the whole miserable exchange of the last ten minutes to care about who it was, so I just grabbed Rosalie by the hand and tried to pull her with me.

"Bella—" she started to protest.

"We're getting the hell out of here," I interrupted, a rough, emotional edge to my voice. The thought of this place, and that disgusting, twisted pyscho in there made my stomach lurch.

"Okay," she relented, turning to the huge, impeccably dressed guy beside her. I didn't even look in his direction; I was glaring at Rosalie, irritated that she was stalling in the pouring rain.

She began to remove the jacket, but the mystery guy placed his large, muscular hand on her shoulder, keeping the coat in place. My glare softened a bit, but I still couldn't quite make out his face in the driving wind and rain. And I was so cold, and so upset, and my fingers were turning blue and my teeth were chattering loudly.

She smiled at him, saying nothing, and I took her hand and we scrambled down the street to the corner, where a line of cabs was waiting. We jumped into the backseat, drenched and miserable. I gave the cabbie my address and he grunted something unintelligible, and floored it up the hill.

I looked over at Rosalie, whose face was set in a stern, unreadable expression that seemed like an odd mix of serenity, fear, and regret. She was tapping her fingers lightly on the console, gazing out the window at the dark storefronts and drunken bar-hoppers.

"Rosalie," I said, placing my hand lightly on her arm. She jumped a bit at the contact, and turned toward me.

"Oh, Bella, I'm so sorry," she said softly, and I could see the tears brimming in her eyes.

"Sorry for what, Rosalie? You don't ever have to go back there."

"At what price, Bella?!" she exclaimed, clenching my wrists so tightly that I could feel her fingernails piercing my skin.

I looked at her in silence, torn between the truth and some kind of over-protective lie. I decided Rosalie couldn't handle the truth, especially not now.

"I took care of it, Rosalie. I told him you can't physically work there anymore, okay?"

"I'm sure he bought that," she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I have connections," I lied. "Even assholes like him aren't immune to…people in power." The most powerful person I knew was my father, but Charlie wasn't exactly intimidating.

"Even if that's true, what am I supposed to do now, Bella? I need money for rent, and food, and—"

"Then you'll get another job, Rosalie. You have a college education—you didn't spend four years in a classroom for nothing."

"I didn't really spend too much time in the classroom…"

"Okay, look, that doesn't matter. I'll help you."

"I'm not a pity case, Bella," she argued, her voice rising. "You shouldn't have even gotten involved."

I felt my chest tighten at her words, realizing suddenly that I really hadn't fixed anything. Maybe she was right, I realized. Maybe I had failed Rosalie as a friend, as a doctor, as someone she could rely on to just stay the hell out of her personal affairs…

"Bella," she said, her voice softening. "I didn't mean it like that—"

"I was just worried about you," I said, reading the apology in her eyes.

"I know."

The cab pulled up to the curb at the top of the hill, sparing us a long and painful walk. I couldn't fathom why in the world someone would buy five-inch stiletto heels in a city like San Francisco, but Rosalie seemed to manage just fine. I, on the other hand, would have tumbled down the hill long ago.

"You're staying with me tonight," I said, giving Rosalie a hard, stubborn stare. "In case that weirdo comes looking for you or something."

"I'm too tired to argue with you," she mumbled.

"Good."

I turned the key in the lock, and we climbed the stairs to my dark, chilly apartment. I rarely turned on the heat, because it just wasn't necessary in this city. Tonight, though, was one of those rare nights that defied the California stereotype. Tonight was frigid.

"Bella, I have to tell you something," Rosalie said suddenly, still shivering from the cold.

"Why don't you change first? You're practically hypothermic."

"Oh don't worry, I won't get pneumonia."

"Well, technically you can't get pneumonia from cold temperatures—"

"Bella!" she said. "Stop being nerdy!"

Oops. Bad habit. "Sorry," I grumbled.

"Okay, but in ten minutes, when we're both warm, I have to talk to you," she said, giving me no room to argue.

***

After we had both changed and looked a little less blue, Rosalie found me at the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat back, eyeing me closely. She brushed her hair behind her ears, and sipped her coffee quietly.

"Who was that guy you were standing with?" I asked, frustrated by the silence.

She looked up, meeting my inquisitive stare. I hadn't thought of him until now. And I still couldn't place his face, which was frustrating me.

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually," she said in a quiet, hesitant voice.

"Uh oh," I groaned. "Rosalie, any guy that patronizes a club like that is not high quality."

"He wasn't from the club. He was from across the street."

"Those bars aren't much better," I said, although I had to raise my eyes at that. Those bars aren't much better, because they attract the corporate, rich, self-absorbed crowd. I hated those guys almost as much as the low-lifes.

"Well, he's a doctor," she said, and I felt the coffee catch in my throat. Ugh. Aspirating coffee was painful.

"What kind of doctor?" I asked suspiciously, scanning my brain for every doctor I knew, trying to recall his face.

"Uh…" she began, her face contorting in thought. "An orthopod?"

"Orthopedist?"

"Yeah," she said, her eyes brightening. "He said he does knees."

Oh, God. A quack doctor that fixes the knees of vulnerable women—how many of those did I know? A lot, unfortunately.

"Rosalie, he was just trying to impress you—"

"But he knows Edward Cullen!"

More coughing. Now my throat was really starting to hurt.

"What?" I croaked.

"They work together at UC. He said they were at the bars together."

I felt my stomach drop. Was I actually _disappointed_ that Edward hadn't been standing there with his…friend, or whatever? Was it because that meant he was with someone else, probably home by now, fucking some girl's brains out…

"Bella?" Rosalie asked, interrupting my unpleasant vision.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "What's this guy's name?"

"Emmett," she said.

"Last name?"

"I didn't get that," she admitted. "Oh, wait, he gave me his card."

She reached into her purse and fished out a business card, proving every detail of her bizarre encounter with a random surgeon on the street. I looked at the card, suddenly remembering why I knew his face, and why I had tried to block it out. It was that night, that long, miserable night in the hospital…at least until Edward Cullen walked in, looking godlike at four in the morning, while I looked like death. Ugh, no wonder why I had tried to forget the whole experience.

"I'm going to call him," she said.

"What? Why?"

"Because he's a surgeon, Bella! He can help me." She paused, glancing down with a sly smile on her face. "And he's dreamy."

"Dreamy?"

"Yeah, like that guy on Grey's Anatomy. He's like…Dr. McDreamy or something."

I steadfastly refused to watch that show, but I had heard the term. I rolled my eyes, but I had to smile at Rosalie, who looked completely smitten by the hunky doctor in the rain.

"Okay, then call him for an appointment," I relented. "But, Rosalie, don't get your hopes up. Most surgeons I know fit the stereotype."

"He was different, Bella. He was a sweet guy."

I nodded, but already my mind was elsewhere. I shouldn't ask about Edward Cullen; I couldn't give Rosalie that satisfaction. But if they were at the bars together, then why wasn't he there, too, waiting with an umbrella…

"Where was Edward Cullen, then?" I asked, because sometimes my vocal cords worked without consulting my brain.

Rosalie looked a little confused at first, but then her eyes gleamed, and a knowing smile danced on her lips. I could handle this. I deserved it.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked coyly.

"Rose! You can be such a teenager sometimes."

"Well, honestly, I thought you had run into him, and that's why you were booking it out of that club so fast."

"What?" My voice had a high-pitched squeak to it, because there was no way a guy like Edward Cullen would be seen in a shit hole like that.

"He went in there after you," she said, as though it was the most logical statement she had ever made.

"He did _what_?"

"Didn't you see him?" she asked.

"No, I didn't see him," I huffed. I hadn't seen anyone but that fat asshole behind the desk. The almighty doctor had probably flaked out when he got a good look at that guy, and just let me hang out to dry.

"Oh," she said, looking somewhat baffled.

"What did Dr.—er, Emmett say about it?"

"He didn't say anything. He seemed just as confused as you are."

"So while I'm in this shady-ass place, you're flirting with the hot surgeon on the street?" I asked, hurt and exasperated.

"No, Bella! He was trying to calm me down, and so he tried to change the subject and I told him about my knee and he just gave me his card—"

"Okay, Rosalie," I said, feeling a major headache coming on. "It's okay. It worked out fine, so we can just forget about it."

"But what about Edward? He never came out of the club."

"He didn't?"

"No…I mean, I didn't see him, so he must have still been in there when we left."

I wasn't sure if I felt relieved or annoyed or just completely blindsided. I had definitely fled the place at breakneck speed, but shouldn't I have at least seen him? Should we have waited for him to come out? Shouldn't Emmett have said something?

"I think you should call him," Rosalie said, a devious lilt in her voice.

"No," I said firmly. "I'm not calling him."

"Why not? He went in there to help you."

"Rosalie, he didn't help me. He probably went and hid in the bathroom or got himself a lap dance."

She rolled her eyes and gave me a dismissive, annoyed wave.

"You don't know what happened, Bella. You should just call him and find out. Or even better, you should just _go _there."

"I'm not showing up at his office to ask about his activities at a strip club," I said dryly. Actually, I couldn't imagine any circumstances that would necessitate my showing up at his office unannounced.

"You can be so stubborn sometimes," she said, standing up to rinse out her mug. "But you'll break down."

"Break down?"

"Yes," she said, turning towards me. "Especially since someone called me this morning from the hospital, to tell me that they have your phone."

Shit. I hardly used my phone since I had a pager, but I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. It didn't surprise me that I had left something so important behind; I had discharged myself in near record time. And Rosalie was my emergency contact, so it made sense that someone had called her. But why hadn't she told me this earlier?

"Then I'll just show up at the lost and found," I grumbled.

"Actually," she said, looking every bit the devious, matchmaking vixen she was, "Edward Cullen is holding it for you."

***

**I've gone too long without some E/B interaction...this shall be fixed asap! ;)**

**Please review! Thanks!**


	8. Experimental Treatment

**A/N**: Lots of different things going on in this chapter. I hate contrived plot lines, so I'm trying to bring all the characters together without it seeming too...well, contrived. I'm doing my best!

Also, for those who are interested, this chapter has a bit about Tay-Sachs, which is a devastating disease that affects children. It's fascinating from a medical standpoint, but very sad. If you're interested, definitely wikipedia it for more information.

Thanks for reading!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Twilight, but I'm going to see Rob's obscure British movie tomorrow night. Yay!

***

**Chapter 8: Experimental Treatment  
**

**EPOV**

The metallic clang of the door echoed in my ears, and I took my time walking out of that club, knowing that asshole wouldn't follow me. I shot the bouncer a nasty glare, and stepped out into the rain, where Emmett was standing—alone and coatless—under his umbrella. For a second I thought he must have gotten mugged, because that damn coat was worth at least a few grand.

"Where are they?" I asked, sounding more desperate than I should have.

"They left," he said.

"They just left?" I asked with disbelief. Where did they go? And who the hell did they go with?

"Yeah," he said, extending his umbrella to me. I swatted it away, because I was already drenched and I didn't give a shit about the rain, not after that whole debacle.

"I see," I said, pretending not to care. Should I care? I didn't even know these girls, although I had bizarrely stepped in on their behalf. And I was making that call to the commissioner tonight, as soon as I aired out my phone. That sleaze deserved it.

"The one inside seemed really upset when she came out, so she just grabbed Rosalie and they ran off," he explained.

"You guys are on a first name basis now?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. Emmett could remember the names of precisely four of his patients, and two of them were his sisters.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbled. He looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet nervously. _Nervously_. Never thought I'd see it, but Emmett had a crush. I decided to let it go for now, but I'd give him shit for it later.

"Did they get a cab all right?" I asked, feeling bizarrely parental.

"Yeah, they picked one up at the corner."

I exhaled with something that sounded a lot like relief, wondering if Emmett noticed. I was strangely disappointed that they had disappeared, but I convinced myself that it didn't matter. None of it mattered, as long as they knew that their problems had been solved. I sure as hell didn't want a pediatrician coming back here and getting on that stage.

"And then you got mugged?" I joked.

"What?"

"Your jacket," I said.

"Oh, yeah," he said, smiling sheepishly. "Rosalie looked so cold and wet, so…"

I rolled my eyes and hailed us a cab, anxious to get out of the rain and off this miserable corner. I might have stood here longer for other reasons, but she was gone, and I wasn't sure why I cared so much.

***

By 9 am the next morning, a gloriously sunny Thursday, the ER was packed, the strip club in North Beach had been shut down, the owner was in jail, Emmett was still hungover, and I was sitting at my desk, listening to Brandon talk about some guy that had swallowed his bong.

"Shockingly, he is breathing on his own," she continued.

"Then leave it in there," I said flatly.

"Oh, um…what?"

"He must have swallowed it for a reason," I explained.

"Well, I'm not…I don't know that—"

"I'm just giving you a hard time, Brandon. You seem uptight today," I remarked.

"I do?"

"Yeah."

"Oh," she said, looking down at her notes. "I'm fine."

"Really? Because you get like this when you want to say something, and you stay like this until you do. So you could spare yourself a lot of anguish if you just said what it is that's on your mind."

She eyed me cautiously, fidgeting with the papers in her hands. She repositioned the brown reading glasses on the bridge of her nose, and then took them off. Yeah, she was definitely nervous.

"I'm waiting…" I said, feigning impatience. I had all the time in the world—it was just about looking busy that mattered.

"I was, um, planning a dinner tomorrow night, and Jasper said that he had mentioned it to you…"

My silence was torturing her, and she knew it. But Brandon was not one to be pushed; her self-pacing made her a very capable doctor, although a rather poor confessor.

"So…um…are you able to come?" she asked, her voice high and shaky.

"I think so," I said, and her face softened a bit. At the same time, she was clearly fighting disbelief.

"Oh, well, that's great. And please feel free to bring…to bring someone..."

Brandon, like every other person at this hospital, knew nothing about my personal life. I liked it that way, and I kept it that way. I wasn't planning on changing that with a birthday dinner.

"I'll keep that in mind," I said, managing a polite smile for the benefit of her nerves.

"Great," she said, with a warm, genuine grin. She was incapable of deceit; somehow, she really was happy to hear that I would be sharing a Friday night with a bunch of people that probably spent most of their Friday nights talking about how anxious they were to escape me. It was just the nature of the attending-resident dynamic, unfortunately.

She scurried out the door and into the crowded hallways, leaving me at my desk with a stack of charts to deal with. I flipped through them and settled on a guy with schizophrenia, because I felt like talking to someone who saw things differently than the rest of the world.

***

Thursday passed slowly, painfully, and I went home and fell asleep five minutes after I walked in the door. When I woke up, it was raining again, the wind rattling the shutters and giving the air a distinct chill. I walked over to the window to admire the sheer chaos of San Francisco's weather, which mirrored my daily life in so many ways, and I wasn't sure if I loved or hated it that way.

I moseyed into work just before lunch, scanning the halls for the desperate residents who always panicked when the attending wasn't around. Jasper found me first, but he didn't look desperate. He looked oddly relaxed.

"Hey, Edward," he said, which I still wasn't used to. None of the residents called me by my first name; none of the residents called me anything, actually. I had heard a few nicknames behind my back, though. My favorite was Dr. Cold One. Because apparently Cullen sounded like Cold One—either that, or I reminded them of some medical version of Dracula, or Bud Light. Who knows.

"Good morning, Jasper," I said, managing a smile to match his own.

"You're coming tonight, right?" he asked, expecting an enthusiastic yes.

"Looks that way," I said, maintaining a flat tone. I still had no fucking idea why this guy wanted me to party with him; I was his boss, and most people actively avoided that situation.

"Cool," he said. "And I have a question for you, actually."

I waited.

"Who's the ortho consult?" he asked, finally.

"Today? Or just in general?"

"Uh…I guess today."

"I think it's Emmett McCarty. Just page him."

I didn't bother to give him the number, because he could figure that out himself. He knew better than to ask me for petty information, and I valued that in people.

"Great. Thanks."

I nodded and continued my leisurely walk down the hall, and then headed to the second floor for the cafeteria's delectable lunch special. It wasn't too bad, really. It was just easy to complain about hospital food.

I took my odd-looking burrito back to my office, thankful for a few minutes of silence. Friday afternoons were always busy, unfortunately. My phone rang as soon as I sat down, and I let out a groan as I reached for it.

"Edward Cullen," I said.

"Oh, Dr. Cullen. Pardon me for the interruption, but a woman called regarding some of her personal effects from an admission earlier this week, and one of the nurses said she had handed the materials over to you."

I sat up in my chair, suddenly remembering the Ziploc bag in my bottom drawer. I had almost forgotten about it. Almost.

"Yes, I have them here. Just have her come to my office."

"I told her that over the phone, Doctor. I hope you don't mind."

It was Jane from reception, and she sounded stressed as usual. I always tried to cut her some slack.

"No, that's fine. Did she say what time she would be coming?"

"Later this afternoon. She couldn't give me a specific time."

"I see. Thank you, Jane."

I hung up the phone and put my hand on the drawer, convincing myself that I didn't have the time or the energy to deal with this. I could just drop it off at reception, and spare her—and me—the trouble. I don't know why I had even held onto it in the first place; was I hoping to get into another argument with her? Another debate about the care of kids versus adults? The dangers of strip clubs?

I didn't need this. I didn't care. But then Emmett blustered into the room, and the drawer stayed closed.

"Edward, you got a minute?" he thundered.

I groaned. "I'm eating."

"Well, good. That means you've got a few minutes," he said, settling himself into one of my large chairs. "I'm taking Rosalie out tonight."

I felt a particularly large chunk of guacamole lodge in my throat, and I tried to stifle a cough.

"Rosalie? The one who mugged you?"

"Har har," he said. "Yeah, the one who has my coat. Look, I need some advice."

"I'm not a dating service," I said. Emmett didn't really do "dates"; he was more into hook-ups, especially the no-strings-attached variety.

"Okay, forget it then. Sorry I asked."

"No, wait a second. You could crash Brandon's birthday dinner with me."

He hesitated, and I wondered for a second if my sarcasm had gone completely over his head.

"That could work," he mused.

"What? No, that won't work. I was joking, Emmett."

"It didn't sound like a joke. And aren't you going?"

Information spread like fucking wildfire in this place, especially when it came to details regarding my personal life. I felt like someone was compiling all these tidbits to submit my profile to SF magazine's next 10 Hottest Bachelors issue. Ugh. Emmett had been on the cover last year, much to his delight and my amusement.

"Uh, possibly," I mumbled.

"Socializing with your residents, Edward? That doesn't sound like you," he smirked.

"Look, I've got to go, Emmett. Have fun on your…date."

"What's the name of the place? We'll stop by after dinner."

I rolled my eyes and brushed by him into the hallway, giving him no time to protest. I was suddenly hoping that Friday afternoon could stretch right into Saturday.

***

The hours passed quickly, and unlike any usual office that clears out at 5 pm on a Friday, the halls were chaotic as the sun set over the hill. I was sitting at my desk, reviewing some of the day's cases, when my cell phone started vibrating.

I glanced at the text message and groaned, shoving the phone into the top drawer. It was already 7 pm, and I had one more patient to see. I had put this one off all day, because I tried to avoid the most depressing cases, and this one definitely fit that description.

I inhaled deeply and draped my stethoscope around my neck, bracing myself for the inevitable. I walked quickly, as I always did when I felt like I had been here too long, slamming my office door behind me and making my way down the halls. But when I turned the corner, I ran into something soft and warm and unexpected, and I had to reach out to catch her from stumbling backwards.

"Hey, what the—" I began, but I stopped at the sight of her nervous, breathless face.

"Excuse me," she mumbled. "I didn't…I'm sorry…"

I looked into her deep brown, worrisome eyes, and watched as her face flushed a bright, blazing red. She struggled to look me in the face, and I wasn't sure if I should be annoyed or amused or downright relieved that Bella Swan had finally shown up here, giving me a reason to see her again.

"Are you looking for someone?" I asked benignly.

"Yes," she stammered. "I was looking for you, actually. The nurse said you were holding onto my cell phone for me."

"I see," I said, wishing she would stop looking at the floor so I could see her face.

"So…do you have it?" she asked, mildly irritated. She finally looked up, her eyes burning with a fire I had seen that night in the hospital room, the night I had let her go and then instantly regretted it. The night a very fundamental rule in my approach to medicine had shifted.

"I do, but I have to see a patient first. Care to join?" I asked, before I had time to think about it.

"Um…" she said, clearly flustered.

"Let's go," I said. "You'll like this one. It's a little person."

She gave me a questioning look, and I managed a small, teasing smile. I thought I saw her expression soften, but I couldn't be sure. She looked a little annoyed, but it was kind of…endearing.

We walked down the corridor, and I couldn't help but notice her impeccable grey suit and slightly mussed brown hair—like she had spent the day with kids, holding them, talking to them, making them feel better. My hair was also a tousled mess, but that was due to one of my few nervous habits of running my hand through my hair. I wasn't sure what I would do if a kid reached up and tried to pull my hair; I had never given myself the chance to find out.

"Mrs. Barnes?" I asked, as we turned the corner into a private room filled with the weak, shrill cries of a child, and his mother's soothing voice.

"Yes," she said, extending her hand. "Please, call me Dana."

"I'm Edward Cullen," I said gruffly, professionally. "And this is my colleague, Bella Swan."

"Pleasure to meet you," Bella said, extending her hand in a firm, but somehow comforting, shake. "Please call me Bella."

Well, shit. My patients never called me Edward. Now I felt like a stiff.

The woman smiled sadly and resituated her young son on her lap, who was still crying weakly, still clutching her hair and grasping wildly at her face.

"What brings you in today, Dana?" I said, although if everyone hadn't insisted on the first-name basis thing, I definitely would have called her Mrs. Barnes.

"It's my son, Doctor. I know his condition is…terminal, but there must be something else you can do…"

"I'm sorry," I said. "There is no effective treatment for Tay-Sachs. Gene and enzyme replacement therapy are still being developed—"

"Isn't there an experimental treatment of some kind?" she asked, desperation creeping into her voice. I looked at the boy, who was about two-years-old, and he was staring at Bella, reaching out to her.

"I'm afraid the treatments in clinical trials right now are not showing any therapeutic effects," I said, suddenly feeling completely inept. "And even if there were an experimental treatment, the disease has already progressed too far…"

She looked down at her son, and I watched her wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. Sometimes I really hated this job. Anyone who thought doctors played God should spend a few minutes with a Tay-Sachs patient.

"My son likes you," she said, looking up at Bella.

"He's a sweet, beautiful boy," she said, smiling warmly at him. The mother lifted him up and placed him in Bella's lap, and the kid actually smiled.

"He is," she said, her voice shaking. "I just feel so guilty."

"Don't," Bella said, bobbing him gently on her knee. "This isn't your fault. It's no one's fault."

"My husband blames me," she said, looking down at her hands. "I refused the genetic testing."

"It doesn't matter now," Bella said softly, taking the woman's hand in hers. "Every life is valuable. Just enjoy the time you have with him, and we will do everything we can to make him comfortable."

"Is he in pain?" she asked.

"No," Bella said firmly, unhesitatingly. "We can't manage all of his symptoms, but we can make sure he isn't in any pain."

The woman nodded slowly, a sad smile gracing her face. I felt like an invisible presence in the room, but for some reason, it didn't bother me. I usually left these rooms like these feeling powerless, frustrated, and angry, but this whole experience felt oddly gratifying. And I hadn't done anything.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I just want to help him."

I hadn't helped anything, but Bella just nodded and gently returned the boy to his mother, who placed him in his tiny stroller.

Bella smiled and just held the woman's hand for a few seconds, and we all sat there in silence, listening to the calm breathing of the toddler and his mother's quiet sobs. I couldn't help but look at Bella, whose face radiated a kind of comfort and empathy that I simply didn't possess. She couldn't do a single thing for this kid, but somehow, the mother looked more peaceful, more relaxed. I wondered where on earth Bella Swan had learned to do that.

Somewhere along the line, she had made the distinction between healing and curing. Until now, I hadn't known it existed.

***

After I closed the door behind us, Bella stood against the wall, her arms crossed, her face in a serene, but stern line. I was still completely blindsided by that whole experience in there, floored by the fact that two people could be drawn to the same field for such different reasons. Medicine was absolutely, undoubtedly, Bella Swan's calling. Was it mine? Did I even believe in callings?

"Anyway, as I was saying," she said, "I apologize for interrupting your schedule, but I do need to get my phone."

I swallowed hard, struggling to speak for the first time in my career.

"Of course," I said, forcing the most professional, bland tone I could manage. Beneath that shaky veneer, I was intoxicated by this woman; I was almost…_intimidated_ by her.

"Follow me," I said.

I led her down the corridor toward my office, which overlooked the Sunset neighborhood to the west, and Golden Gate Park to the north. On clear days, I could watch the sun set over the Pacific; on cloudy days, I watched the fog roll in over the most famous bridge in the world. If this place weren't a hospital, it would be a five-star hotel.

I opened the door to my office and gestured for her to walk in, which she did slowly, deliberately. She scanned the bookshelves and countless textbooks, and probably noticed the sheer absence of personal effects. It could have been anyone's room, really. Only someone who knew me very well might be able to tell that it was mine, and I couldn't think of anyone that fit that description.

I walked over to the desk and pulled out the Ziploc bag, eyeing its contents for the first time. I saw the iPhone and the ear buds for running, a stick of gum, and a monthly transit pass.

"Thank you," she mumbled, taking it from me.

"You're welcome."

She gave me an odd, unreadable look, and turned toward the door. But as soon as she placed her hand on the doorknob, she whirled around again, a flustered, demanding look on her face.

"Why didn't you just leave this at the reception desk?" she asked.

I just stared at her for a second, debating my answer. When in doubt, I always went with the truth, and it seemed like the appropriate approach right now—most of it, anyway.

"I wanted to see you again," I said. "For two reasons."

"What's the first reason?" she asked, and she sounded genuinely perplexed.

"I wanted to apologize for my comments about pediatrics," I said, keeping my eyes fixed on hers—partly because I wanted to gauge her reaction, but mostly because I couldn't tear my eyes away from her lovely, perfect face.

"If that was your opinion, then don't apologize," she seethed, her voice tinged with hostility.

"It wasn't my opinion," I said. "It's just in my nature to be hostile when I can anticipate someone defying my medical advice."

"I see," she said, finally releasing her grip on the door. "But you signed my papers. I didn't leave against your advice."

"Perhaps I should have differentiated between my medical opinion and my medical advice."

"I don't see how it matters," she said, crossing her arms in front of her, a delicate pink flushing her face. I had never seen someone blush so often or so brilliantly in my life, and this was quite a feat, for someone who saw every medical condition on the planet.

"Look, I just feel like there is more to your case than that one incident," I continued. "I think you should have some additional tests."

"No," she said, so resolutely that it disarmed me. "I don't need any more tests."

"Aren't you a doctor?" I pressed, moving towards the door to confront her directly. "Don't you understand the value of doing every diagnostic test available to you?"

"Yes," she said, but I noticed a slight tremble in her voice. "I understand it if the tests are warranted."

"You're stubborn," I said, standing just a foot away from her now. She was emanating that same lush scent of flowers and strawberries, and it was distracting me. But at the same time, I was enjoying it far too much to move.

"So are you," she huffed.

"Fine," I said, holding her gaze a second longer before I turned back toward my desk. "Suit yourself. And good luck with your residency."

I pulled a pile of charts toward me and began to look through them, although I could feel Bella's eyes on me. I knew at any moment she would put her hand on that door and walk out, and I would never see her again. I knew she would, because she was stubborn, and agitated, and angry. And I also knew she wouldn't, because she hadn't already.

"Why were you at Rosalie's club?" she demanded.

"Doesn't matter," I said.

"Of course it matters! You had that guy arrested, didn't you?"

"Which guy?"

"You know _exactly_ which guy. Don't pretend you don't know."

"Even if I did, it doesn't matter. Your involvement with that club, and that guy—whatever it was—is a moot point now."

For some reason, I didn't want to explain to her what I had said, or what I had done. I barely knew her, and she wouldn't understand. Honestly, I didn't really understand it. I didn't want her thinking I went out into the night and saved people in need, because that wasn't how it worked. It was an isolated incident, and I had helped the two of them out, and that was it. I didn't want her blowing it out of proportion.

"Why won't you let me thank you?" she asked, sounding defeated. Her tone and her words left me reeling, and I looked up from my desk to see a completely desperate, pleading expression on her face.

"What did you say?" I asked, willing her to stay there, to explain.

"Nevermind," she said, turning her back on me again, fidgeting with the door, which was causing her some trouble.

"Wait," I said, standing up. I pulled my coat off the chair and walked slowly toward her. "I don't feel like talking about this right now."

"I'm sure you don't," she sighed.

"But I'm having dinner with my residents, and we can discuss it there, if you prefer."

Her eyes widened slightly, and whatever clever retort she had planned melted in her throat. Clearly she hadn't expected me to say that. Neither had I.

"Dinner?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, drowning in her chocolate eyes, wondering why the hell this woman I barely knew was having such a dramatic effect on me.

"It's a business thing," I lied. It sort of was, I told myself.

"I…I don't know…"

"Come," I said, reaching past her to open the door, breathing her in as the cool air from the hallway filled the room.

"Why?" she asked, still cautious, still doubtful. And still kind of angry with me.

"Because I don't want you to go."

***

**Please review! You would make my YEAR (okay, maybe my weekend, but still). Thank you for reading!!**


	9. Overactive SANS

**A/N**: I'm sorry this chapter took a few days - I was doing a ton of editing, which is rare for me. Usually I just write and upload right away, but I was struggling to get this chapter right. So hopefully the end product came out okay!

SANS stands for Sympathetic Autonomous Nervous System, and it makes your heart race and your adrenaline rush - so for example, if I saw Rob in person, SANS would go into major overdrive.

Thank you so much for reading! I hugely appreciate each and every one of your reviews - thank you!!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Twilight.

***

**Chapter 9: Overactive SANS**

**BPOV**

I still had my hand on the door, my back pressed up against it, frozen by his words and the sincere look on his face. I couldn't read his tone of voice, but I could tell that Edward Cullen did not say things like that just for the hell of it.

"Why?" I breathed, feeling my cheeks flush a humiliating red.

"Because," he began, "I really want to convince you to let me run those tests."

I took a deep breath, and I hated myself for feeling disappointed.

"I see," I managed.

He looked at me quizzically, his eyes a feverish, unreadable green. It suddenly became obvious to me why his patients, his residents, and everyone else in his life listened to whatever he said. He looked at me with such intensity that I felt my resolve crumble.

"I didn't mean to put you on the spot," he said. "For dinner, I mean."

"Oh, well…I don't know…" I said, scrambling for an excuse.

"We can decide on the way there. Let's go before someone ropes me into seeing another patient," he said, motioning toward the door. I fumbled with the knob and almost stumbled backward as it opened, and he chuckled.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?" he asked.

"No, of course not," I said, flustered. I just couldn't read him, especially when his very well-known reputation was clouding my every judgment about him. I couldn't tell if the image he presented was actually him, or just what he wanted me to see.

"It's just that people don't usually blush so much unless they're uncomfortable," he said.

"I have an overactive SANS," I quipped. Lame, Bella. _Lame_.

He looked at me with the smallest of smiles on his face, and I wanted to go back and redo this entire conversation. I had intentionally come here after work hours, praying that he wouldn't be here on a Friday night. I had put it off as long as humanly possible, because I was dreading it and looking forward to it and feeling just ridiculously conflicted about the whole thing.

Well, too late now. I walked with him down the hall, bypassing the bustling nurses and residents and everyone else that looked miserable hanging out here on the weekend. Fortunately, I had a rare night off. I couldn't make my own hours like Edward Cullen, who took off whenever he damn well felt like it. I was a lowly resident, who worked 100 hours a week for next to minimum wage. But I loved my job, and that, to me, made it worth it.

As we made our way across the street, I started to envision some kind of flashy convertible or Porsche or whatever it was that he probably drove. He didn't say anything as we took the steps down into the dark, deserted parking garage, and I began to think about the implications of his invitation. The more I thought about it, the more I felt like asking him to just take me home.

"After you," he said, opening the passenger door to a silver Volvo. It wasn't at all flashy, just very sleek, very alluring in a subtle, sultry way. Exactly like its owner, I realized, stealing a glance at his strong, beautiful features, lingering there just a second too long. I wondered how many of his patients came just to admire his face; I wondered if he noticed or even cared how attractive he was. I was disappointed in myself for noticing, and for thinking about it.

"Seriously, Dr. Swan," he said, keeping things very professional, "I am happy to drive you wherever you need to be. I didn't expect you to drop your evening plans for this."

"Oh," I mumbled, thinking of my evening plans. Rosalie had dumped me for some kind of dinner date, so I had no plans. Would that make me sound like a total loser? Should I lie?

"I had an exhausting week," I said. "I was just going to call it an early night at home."

"I see," he said, shifting the gears with authority, cruising the hills with ease. "Well, this will be an early night—I told my senior resident I would make an appearance, nothing more. You'll get a free dinner out of it, at least."

He looked over at me, a crooked smile playing on his lips. I had seen him smile before, but not like this. It was more…intimate, somehow. Not businesslike, or forced, or polite. Or maybe I was just imagining it. Maybe I wanted to see it that way.

"Okay," I relented.

He nodded and said nothing, and I turned toward the window, willing the sights and sounds of my home city to calm the nerves that were buzzing through my veins.

***

Ten minutes later, we were standing on the sidewalk in the Castro, surrounded by people out and about on a Friday night. I still had no idea where we were going, but he seemed to have a plan, as he locked the car doors and led me down a quiet side street.

"Why are you so insistent on more tests?" I finally asked, breaking a silence that was doing nothing to help my growing anxiety.

He ran his hand through his thick, tousled bronze hair, something he had done more than a few times tonight. I couldn't shake the theory that this was a nervous habit of his, but it seemed so ridiculous to think so. Why would he have even the slightest reason to be nervous around me?

"Just a hunch," he said, glancing at me, his emerald eyes blazing.

"A hunch? That I'm dying?" I asked, an edge to my voice.

He stopped abruptly, leaving me a step ahead of him. I turned around to face him, and his face was grave, concerned.

"No," he said, and his tone was severe. "But I've seen a case like yours before, and I didn't do anything then…and I should have."

His serious expression suddenly turned forlorn, as though he was recalling a deeply personal, painful memory. I realized suddenly that he wasn't thinking of a patient; he was thinking of someone he knew. The emotional distance he imposed on all of his patients was completely gone, as though he had removed a mask.

"Who was it?" I asked, unthinking. He met my gaze, and I immediately regretted the question.

"It was just a patient," he said, and just like that, the emotion in his voice was gone. But I had definitely heard it, and I had seen it in his expression. But he had closed it off again, and the memory, that flicker of recognition, was gone.

"I feel fine," I said. "I've always been healthy."

"You're a doctor," he said. "You know better than that."

"Do you ever lose an argument?" I asked, knowing the answer already.

He smiled and shook his head, digging his hands into his pockets. "I don't often get into arguments," he said, looking up at me, his eyes bright and teasing.

"I didn't think so," I said, and this time, I couldn't suppress a smile. It was reluctant, barely there, but he noticed.

"Just make an appointment this week, please? I'll run the tests; it'll take an hour at most. Then I can sleep at night."

I almost laughed at the thought of Edward Cullen losing sleep over a patient, especially one as stubborn as me. Then again, he seemed like the kind of guy who could go days without any sleep at all.

"Ugh," I groaned. "Fine."

"Good," he said, and he sounded like he really meant it.

A few seconds later we were standing in front of Delfina's, one of my favorite restaurants in San Francisco. As soon as we walked in, someone in the corner waved us over, and I followed him to a bustling, crowded table, where the wine was flowing freely. I recognized only one face from my brief hospital stay, and she flashed me a bright, welcoming smile.

"Edward, you made it," one of the others said. He was a young guy, with blondish hair and a casual grin.

Edward nodded and proceeded to introduce me to the table of young doctors, who looked a little bit tense in his presence. Except for the blond one, whose name was Jasper.

I definitely felt out of place in my business attire, and I wished I had taken a few minutes to at least look in the mirror. I couldn't help but admire Alice, the one I recognized, who had such delicate, striking features. Her hair was a brilliant black, cut short in a way that perfectly framed her face. I was insecure, I realized, and I wasn't sure why. If Edward worked with her every day, maybe they were together…this was her dinner, after all.

Edward made polite conversation with the residents for a few minutes, while I talked to Jasper about med school, residency, and some other standard topics. He was trying to include me, which I appreciated, but I could tell that he—and everyone else—was trying to work up the nerve to ask me what the hell I was doing here with Edward Cullen.

"So Bella," Alice said, turning to me during a break in the conversation. "How have you been feeling?"

"Good," I said, probably too quickly. I didn't want her thinking of me as Edward's patient, for some reason. I didn't want to seem like a charity case.

"That's great," she said, and her warm, genuine tone relaxed me somewhat. Edward was engaged in a conversation with three other people at the end of the table, so it was just Alice and Jasper who had me in their clutches. I was kind of relieved.

"Yeah, I think it was just a fluke," I said weakly.

"How do you know Edward?" Jasper asked, and the whole table suddenly grew silent. My cheeks took on the color of the Merlot in front of me.

"Dr. Swan is a colleague," Edward said, as though everyone should have known that already. I felt relief wash through me.

"Please, call me Bella," I said, to no one in particular. I had meant it for Edward, but I wasn't sure he even heard.

"You're a pediatrician, right?" Alice asked.

"Yes," I said. "How did you know?"

"We talked about it a bit the other night," she said, smiling shyly. I definitely did not remember that conversation. Ugh, how many drugs had I been on?

"Oh," I said, praying for someone to step in and take the focus off me. I downed the rest of my wine and willed the waiter to come over here for a refill.

"Don't worry about it," Alice said. "I ordered up some pretty strong narcotics for you that night. I would have been out like a light."

Her voice was so warm, her smile so kind, that I could see why Alice Brandon had persevered to chief resident while so many had failed. She connected effortlessly to people, and I wondered if she saw something else in Edward, aside from the reputation and the stark professionalism. I had a feeling she did, but I doubted he realized it.

"Well, we could talk all night about opiates, but I think Alice should share with us all what it's like to turn—"

"Jasper!" she said, giggling. "No numbers."

"But…wait…I thought you were nineteen? You're sensitive about your age _already_?" Jasper teased.

She rolled her eyes, giving him an amused, knowing look.

"I was nineteen once," she said, captivating the whole table with her high, vibrant voice. "But nineteen hardly compares to this. What I'm doing now, this is what I've waited my whole life for."

I knew the feeling.

***

Three hours and several glasses of red wine later, the restaurant was closing up and it was time to go. Alice was a few drinks beyond tipsy, which is how it should be on your birthday, and Jasper helped her up from the table, draping his arm around her shoulders. I had noticed, over the course of the night, that there was something going on between the two of them, but it wasn't exactly overt.

Edward hadn't said much throughout the dinner, and I hadn't noticed if he had been drinking wine or not. I had definitely taken advantage of the alcohol to loosen my nerves, but since I had been forced to pull up a chair on the opposite side of the table from him, I managed to spend most of the night diverting my attention elsewhere.

Everyone was getting up to go, so I thanked Alice and Jasper quickly for including me, and decided to use the bathroom to avoid some kind of awkward exit with Edward. I couldn't expect him to drive me home; hell, I didn't know what to expect from this guy who was giving me enough mixed signals to make my head spin.

Once I got to the bathroom, I realized how stupid and immature it was to just run off like that, but whatever, I'd blame it on the wine. And since I had agreed to that appointment next week, I would see Edward Cullen again, on a strictly professional basis. I didn't want to screw that up by saying something idiotic on the car ride home.

I looked in the mirror, struck by the pallor of my face and the sheer chaos of my hair. It was in a messy bun, as it had been all day, and it looked atrocious. I tried running my fingers through it to calm it down, but I somehow made it worse. So I gave up and just let it sit loosely on my shoulders, cursing myself for showing up at his office completely unprepared, feeling like an idiot for coming here at all.

When I stepped back out into the dining room, I was surprised to see a completely deserted room, aside from the waiters that lingered around the tables. I scanned the room again, just to be sure someone wasn't standing around waiting for me, trying to convince myself that it wasn't Edward I was hoping to see.

I said good night to the host and stepped out into the night, which was warm and balmy and almost frighteningly windy. I looked around again, almost impulsively, but this time my eyes found his tall, unmistakable figure, and I was immediately embarrassed.

"You scared me," I said, trying to catch my breath. Thank god it was dark, because my face was on fire.

"Did you think I would just leave?" he asked.

"Well, sure," I said, lamely. "This isn't a date."

He raised an eyebrow at me, clearly amused. That definitely came out wrong.

"I know that," he said, but his tone was light.

"Anyway, I can just take a cab home. Or walk, even. It's not far."

"Don't be ridiculous, Bella."

I heard my name catch in his throat, almost imperceptibly, but I could see his expression change. I had observed how formally he addressed everyone, even his residents. He had slipped, and we both noticed.

"All right," I said, allowing the silence to linger just a little too long. Maybe it was the wine, but I loved the sound of my name on his lips. It reminded me of the way he smiled, that crooked smile in the car…he was like a frustrating array of contrasts, and I was struggling to find the real Edward, wondering if he was in there at all.

He nodded, his face set in a stern, unreadable line. I guessed that he spent his entire career—and his life, maybe—creating boundaries, and he rarely crossed them. And when he did, he recreated them almost instantly. He was doing that now.

We walked to his car, the wind whipping through my hair, creating even more of a mess. I tripped on an uneven crack in the sidewalk, and I felt his steady, strong hand on my arm.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes," I said brusquely. We walked in silence for the next five minutes, broken only by my intermittent groans and the clicks of my heels on the sidewalk.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked when we were almost to the car, his voice quiet, almost tentative. I stopped grumbling for a minute, surprised by the nervous tinge to his tone.

"I did," I said, which was true, aside from the crushing nerves I had felt for the first half-hour or so. "Um…did you?"

"Mmhm," he said, keeping his eyes on the path ahead of us.

"That's nice," I said, cringing at my own words. Seriously, Bella. Learn the value of silence.

He said nothing, but I thought I saw his lips turn up in a little smile. I tried to keep myself focused on the ground, eager to avoid any embarrassing falls. It was hard, though, because he had such an intoxicating face, and when he smiled, he radiated intelligence and honesty and humor, which he kept buried so far beneath the surface. I wanted to bring it out, all of it, to experience Edward Cullen outside of the man he wanted other people to see, outside of his reputation and his façade and everything he had spent his entire life aspiring to be. But he would shoot me down entirely, I realized. Just as he had done earlier.

When we got to the Volvo, he opened the door for me and I climbed in, working up the courage to say or do something, to break his veneer just a little bit.

"Where do you live?" I asked suddenly, and it came out sounding like Question Number One in the Stalker Handbook. His expression didn't change, thankfully, but he kept his eyes on the road ahead, revving the engine.

"I live in the city," he said simply, but that was obvious. Edward Cullen was a city creature, just like me. I knew the type; I knew it by the way he drove, and walked the hills, and breathed in the cold, wet air as though he needed it to exist.

"You?" he asked.

"In the city," I retorted.

"Well, actually, I need to know exactly where you live, because I'm driving you home."

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to recover. I hoped to God he didn't think I had said that because I assumed I was going home with him. I groaned again.

"What is it?" he asked, turning to me. My heart was racing now, and I didn't even know why. The streetlights were glistening in his brilliant, emerald eyes, and it left me breathless. It left me wanting more, so much more.

"Nothing," I grumbled, shaking the thought. "I live on the south side of Buena Vista Park."

"Yeah, you could have walked that," he said.

"Well, technically," I stuttered. "But in heels, it would take forever—"

"I was joking," he said.

"Right." I sighed, feeling flustered for the millionth time tonight. I wasn't intimidated by Edward Cullen, as I thought I would be. I just felt…disarmed by him. Like I couldn't see what was coming next, which left me blind. I had to get back into my element, somehow. And there was only one way I knew how to do that.

"Why did you ask me to dinner?" I asked, and my words sounded like stone in the stillness of the car.

"I told you why," he said.

"Was that the only reason?" I asked.

He hesitated, shifting into a lower gear as he climbed some of the steepest hills in the city.

"No," he said, his voice low. He waited, his eyes distant, his expression unmoving. I hadn't expected that answer, if it was true or not.

"I'm selfish," he said finally, and he had said it so quietly that I wasn't sure I had even heard him right. "I asked you to dinner because I wanted you to come. I was intrigued by the way you treat your patients. I'm nothing like you, Bella. And if you hang around me long enough, you'll lose all faith in medicine."

I felt a rush of emotion festering in my throat, choking me. Somehow, he had complimented me, insulted me, and warned me all at once. He was telling me to stay away from him, telling me that his medicine would poison mine. How dare he make that kind of judgment, as though he could simply define what good medicine was. As though he could take me out with him, and make me feel like I was more than just a study in the patient-doctor dynamic. It infuriated me.

"If you've lost faith in the medicine you practice, then why bother at all?" I seethed.

"Because I'm good at it," he said. "I'm objective. I'm impartial. I don't get invested."

"You got invested in me," I said, expecting an angry, clipped retort. But his eyes were soft, almost sad, and I almost couldn't stand to look at him.

"Yes," he said. "And look where it got us."

He looked over at me, his eyes dark, almost black, in the shade of the pines on my quiet street. We were outside my apartment, which was dark and empty and suddenly very unappealing. As conflicted as this man made me, I felt drawn to him, compelled by the way he spoke, and acted, and looked at me, as though I alone could command his attention.

"Wait," he said, staring ahead, as I placed my shaking hand on the door. "I meant what I said, but I still want to see you as my patient."

"But not as your colleague?" I said, which sounded almost like a sneer. I thought back to dinner, and felt my chest tighten at the ruse, the dishonesty of it all.

"You are my colleague," he said. "But you're also my patient. I promise you, Bella, if you come this week, I won't ever bother you again."

I sighed, feeling my anger fading.

"It's not fair," I said softly.

"What isn't fair?" he asked, easing his hands of the steering wheel, turning to face me. I breathed deeply and met his deep, penetrating gaze, reeling from the near desperation in his voice.

"You've already saved me once," I said. "Isn't that enough?"

"I didn't save you, Bella. I made a phone call, that's it. But even if I had, can you blame me for wanting to do more, if I'm able to?"

"No," I said, opening the door, letting the cool air rush in. "I can't blame you for wanting more."

***

**Input is always welcome! Thanks everyone! :)**


	10. Autoimmunity

**A/N: **Well, for some reason, this chapter came very easily to me. So here it is, earlier than expected!

There is some random medical terminology in this chapter, so here's a bit of info: CPK measures muscle breakdown (can be caused by a lot of things), platelets are responsible for blood clotting, and anemia is caused by a low level of red blood cells (RBC's contain iron, so that's the relationship there). And autoimmunity is a nasty thing, where your body attacks itself. I already have Bella's diagnosis in mind, but...well, we shall get to that. :)

Thank you so much for the reviews and encouragement! I was having some writer's block, so I started another story, but of course I'm sticking with this one, too. Plus I think my writer's block is cured, so yay for that.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Twilight.

*****  
**

**Chapter 10: Autoimmunity  
**

**EPOV**

When I got home that night, I walked straight over to the piano because I knew there was no hope of sleeping. I poured a healthy glass of Pinot Noir and sat down at the grand piano, letting the wind drown out the sounds of the dark, languid notes that filled the apartment. Any time a patient, or a memory, or some random event reminded me of the one that had changed my life, I played all night, long and slow and torturous.

And fuck, I was tired. I was tired of obsessing over something I couldn't fix then, and never could fix. She was dead. And I couldn't do a thing about it.

But I could fix Bella, if she needed fixing. Couldn't I? Was I grasping at something that wasn't even there? Was I letting my twisted, tortured history cloud my judgment about whatever I thought was wrong with her? I couldn't just subject her to my every whim, as I occasionally did with patients who didn't know better. She would know, and she would stop me.

I tried for hours to shake those images from my mind, the images of my past, of her dying, wasting face, her pleas for help and then, finally, a plea for release. She had given up and it fucking destroyed me, because I never gave up. Even when she was crying and begging and obviously done, just completely spent, I didn't want to give up. Then Carlisle had stepped in and convinced me it was the right way, the only way…

And then I saw Bella's face, her perfect, lovely features and the way she smiled and blushed and looked so _alive_ all the time. I had noticed it the very first time I saw her, even when she was pale and sick and lying there in that hospital bed. It took my fucking breathing away the first time I saw her, even more so when she started arguing with me. She reminded me of so many things, of why I had gone into medicine in the first place, and what I had lost along the way.

I poured everything I had into the music at my fingers, until the sun came up over the Pacific and the red dawn streamed in through the windows. Forget sleeping. Maybe I'd have better luck in my office, lulled to sleep by the slow drones of sleep-deprived residents and agitated nurses.

***

I spent the whole weekend at the hospital, which didn't bother me in the least. I kept a closer eye on my pager and my voice mail, once I realized that I hadn't physically set up an appointment with Bella, and I had this nagging feeling she might blow it off altogether.

Brandon had the weekend off, one of the perks of being a senior resident, but Jasper was there bright and early, anxious to get my take on every patient that walked in the door. I found myself drifting off when he suddenly mentioned Friday night.

"Alice wanted me to thank you again for coming out last night," he said. I looked up.

"You and Alice talk a lot?" I asked off-handedly, but Jasper noticed the tone in my voice.

"I like her," he said. "Alice has a great outlook on life."

"She also has a great outlook on her job," I commented. "Minus the drama."

Jasper clearly knew what I was getting at, but it didn't seem to phase him. I didn't want to push it; I respected Brandon, and I didn't want to interfere with her personal life. But I also didn't want her bringing her personal life to work.

"Bella's pretty amazing," he said, but he wasn't fishing for information. He seemed to mean it.

"Mmhm," I said, starting to wonder where this was going.

"I didn't realize she was a patient of yours," he said.

"What?" I asked impulsively. Didn't Brandon understand confidentiality?

"Well," he stammered, looking slightly flustered. "Someone paged me regarding an appointment."

"Someone paged you?" I asked, my voice rising.

"Yeah, someone in triage…I told them to contact you, since she's not my patient."

"Shit," I said under my breath, rising from my chair. No one ever paged me unless it was an emergency, which meant Bella hadn't made the appointment. I would have to take care of this myself.

"Sorry, Edward. If I had known—"

"It's not your fault," I said, giving him a quick nod on my way out the door.

I walked briskly to triage and found Jane sitting at her desk, on the phone as usual. She took one look at me and hung up the phone, a concerned look on her face.

"Hi, Jane," I said, sparing a polite smile. Jeezus, were people here really afraid of me?

"Hello, Dr. Cullen," she said, smiling tightly. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yes, I think a patient of mine called for an appointment."

"Oh, yes…Bella Swan? I tried to put her in touch with Dr. Whitlock—"

"I spoke with him, but I'd like to talk to her myself. Can you give me her number?"

"She didn't leave it," she mumbled.

"It's all right," I said, startled by the tense look on her face. I smiled again, hoping to ease her nerves or whatever it was that was making her look so uncomfortable. "I can find it."

I was hoping for a pager number, rather than a home phone or office number, but I knew she wouldn't have given that on her intake papers. And I hated dealing with the reception people at SFGH, but hell, this was urgent. I took out my cell phone and dialed the pediatrics extension at the General, hoping for a coherent, knowledgeable person on the other end.

"Good afternoon, this is Peds triage at SFGH."

"Hello, this is Edward Cullen, over at UC. I'm trying to find a pager number for one of your residents, Bella Swan."

"Just a moment please."

I waited…and waited…and waited, until finally someone came back on the line, struggling to make her voice heard over some screaming in the background.

"Who is this?" she asked, sounding exasperated.

"Dr. Edward Cullen, over at UC. I've been waiting for a pager number."

"Oh," she said, and I heard some papers shuffling. "Whose number?"

I sighed, taking a moment to calm myself. "Bella Swan," I muttered.

"Oh, yes. It's right here."

She rattled off the number and I thanked her, feeling a wave of relief for the millionth time this year that I wasn't an attending in that firestorm. I dialed the number and waited for my cell to ring. Exactly 30 seconds later, I heard her soft, crisp voice on the line, and I couldn't suppress a small, relieved smile.

"This is Bella Swan. Someone paged me at this number?"

"Hi, Bella," I said, and I heard a sharp intake of breath. My smile widened a bit.

"Dr. Cullen," she said, pausing a second longer than necessary. "I tried calling your office to schedule an appointment."

"We're short-staffed on the weekends," I said. "Unfortunately triage isn't as organized as my assistant."

"I see," she said, sounding slightly embarrassed. I could almost picture a faint blush rising in her cheeks.

"I'm not going to let you off the hook that easily, you know."

"I know," she said softly.

"Can you come in on Monday?"

"Monday? I'm working a 12-hour shift on Monday—"

"My schedule is flexible. Just tell me when you can come in, and I'll work around that."

"Um…" she began, as though she hadn't expected that. And she was right to be surprised, because doctors didn't usually work around their patients' schedules.

"I can come in after my shift…but it probably won't be until 8 pm."

"That's fine," I said. "Just page me when you get here, in case I'm not in my office."

"All right," she said. "See you then."

***

Forty-eight hours later, I was standing over a gurney, helping Jasper insert a central line on a delirious patient. I told him to relax, but his fingers were shaking so hard that he dropped the instrument three times before he turned to me.

"Fuck," he muttered, dropping the scalpel on the tray. "I can't do this."

"You can do this," I said. "Don't psych yourself out."

"If I screw up, this guy bleeds out and dies."

"That's why I'm standing here, Jasper. See one, do one, teach one. Let's go."

He looked at me with a pained look on his face, shook his head, and returned to the small incision site. He took a deep breath and started again, while I offered a few directions and words of encouragement. He steadied his hands, and a few seconds later, the line was in.

"Nice job," I said, and a wide grin spread on his face.

I heard the door swing open behind me, but I didn't turn around until I realized that Jasper was staring at the door.

"Hey Bella," Jasper said, always the friendly one. I felt like such a social stiff around him.

"Oh, hey Jasper," she said, glancing at me. "I didn't mean to interrupt…the woman at triage sent me in here."

"It's fine," I said to her, then turned back to Jasper. "You okay here?"

"I think I'm all set," he said, with a mysterious, devious glint in his eyes. Hell, I could swear I saw a little smirk on his face.

"Page me if there's any change," I grumbled to Jasper. Bella was standing in the doorway, as though she were afraid to come all the way in.

I walked toward the door, opening it wide and following Bella into the hall. It was getting late, almost 9, and the halls were quiet and subdued.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said.

"You're not late. Doctors have no concept of time."

She smiled, and I noticed her shoulders relax, just a bit. She looked tired, like she had just spent twelve hours on the wards, dealing with kids and their annoying parents. But her expression was bright and happy, because she enjoyed her work, and it showed in her face.

"I'm trying to maintain a sense of punctuality," she argued.

"I'd give it up now if I were you," I said, my tone light. This woman had a crazy effect on me, as though every tense moment of the past weekend was just a distant, fleeting memory.

"We'll see how it goes."

I led her to one of the examining rooms, a private room with a stunning view and every piece of modern technology directly at my fingertips. She gasped a little bit when we entered, and I began to wonder what the facilities were like at the General. Probably not so great, according to the rumors.

"I know my chief resident examined you when you were here last week, but I'd like to examine you myself if you don't mind," I said, taking a seat on the doctor's stool, while she sat in the chair beside me.

"I don't mind," she said, placing her hands in her lap. I found myself staring at her impossibly deep brown eyes, which held my gaze as I spoke. She seemed more comfortable here, more at ease, as though an examining room gave her some kind of peace. I could see why, since she spent so many hours in rooms just like this.

"I'd also like to ask you a few questions."

"Of course," she said, like a dutiful, eager patient. I was used to people screaming and protesting and telling me to go to hell, which often happened when the patient was in pain. But Bella seemed perfectly content, and I wondered if she would seem this comfortable if we were sitting somewhere else, just the two of us.

"I have your chart here, so I already have a comprehensive family and medical history," I said, flipping through it. "So I'm going to focus more on recent events."

"Sure," she said, leaning back in the chair. "Ask away."

I cleared my throat and ran my hand through my hair because fuck, I was nervous. I didn't usually know my patients. Actually, I never knew my patients. It was one of my rules.

"All right," I said, placing the chart on the table. I didn't like to take notes when patients were talking to me; it distracted them, and me, and it damaged rapport. You couldn't get a person to tell you shit if they didn't trust you.

"Can you tell me when your symptoms started?"

"About a month ago. I've been running frequently, and my muscles and joints were aching. But that's pretty common, if you run as often as I do."

"How much do you run?" I asked, kind of curious.

"Maybe sixty miles a week, if I'm training for something. Forty if I'm not."

Impressive. We had something in common, although I never trained for anything. I ran to maintain my sanity.

"Can you describe the achiness? Where it hurts? What the pain is like?"

"It's just general soreness, like if you wake up feeling stiff from sleeping the wrong way, or if you did some kind of exercise you weren't used to, and then felt sore the next day."

"Did you take anything for it?"

"Ibuprofen, but not much of it."

She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, which was tumbling down from the messy bun at the top of her head. She was wearing a black suit today, with a neatly-pressed skirt and royal blue blouse, and despite the weariness in her face, she looked radiant.

"Does the ibuprofen help?" I asked, trying to keep myself on task.

"Not really."

"Has the pain gotten worse over the last month?"

"Um…" she paused, and she bit her lip in deep thought. It was cute and definitely sexy, and I wondered if she did this a lot when she was concentrating.

"I would say it hasn't gotten worse, just more…diffuse."

"Diffuse? Could you explain that?"

"Well it was just my knees at first, then my ankles…and now it hurts all over, I guess."

"Those aren't normal aches and pains, Bella," I said, my voice stern. Her expression fell slightly and she looked down.

"It can happen with the flu, or a virus of some kind. I haven't been running as much lately, and I'm feeling better," she argued.

"No more aches and pains?"

"I still have them, but they aren't as bad," she said weakly.

"Do you have them all the time, or just when you run?"

"It's worse when I run."

"So you feel it now?"

"No…I don't know…it varies. I don't know how else to explain it." She looked a little bit flustered, and she was still staring at her hands, fidgeting nervously.

"Okay, enough about that. I'm looking at your labs. Let's talk about them."

"Okay," she said. Finally, she looked up, and I silently rejoiced. But she looked more concerned now, as though I had forced her to recall a very unpleasant memory.

"Most of your lab values are normal," I said, handing her a copy. "You're slightly anemic."

"I always have been."

"Do you take iron supplements?"

"No, but I can start…"

"We can discuss that later. I'm more concerned by your platelets."

"It's just a few values below the norm. It's hardly concerning," she said, her voice firm.

"I think it's unusual," I argued.

"I don't."

"You know, my patients don't usually argue with me."

She sighed, took a deep breath. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm just being methodical."

"It's fine. I appreciate a good argument," I said, teasing her as gently as I dared. I hated that heaviness in her expression, the foreboding look in her eyes that told me she was genuinely worried about this.

"Your hemoglobin and RBC's are slightly low, which makes sense with the anemia. But your CPK is elevated."

"That's not too surprising given all the running I do."

"That may be true," I said, pausing. "But it could be something else."

"What could it be, then?" she asked, and I could hear the exasperation rising in her voice. "Everything is normal. All the tests, all the labs, the CT scan…there is nothing wrong with me."

"I want to do run a full auto-antibody and complement panel."

"What?" she asked, and her body went rigid. "Why?"

"Because I want to rule out autoimmune diseases."

"This can't be autoimmune."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not, Edward!" she said, and defiance flushed her face like wildfire. Her name seared into my ears, breaking down some kind of barrier, dancing precariously on that line between the personal and the professional. Of course this was personal; I felt it, and so did she.

"I'm sorry, Bella," I said, softening my voice. "I just want to run the tests, to rule it out."

"This could be serious, if you're insisting on those tests."

"I'm just being thorough," I said, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her, to take her hands in mine and tell her I was sorry for making her worry, sorry for bringing her in here after twelve hours on the wards. Sorry for making her think that at the prime of her life, something horrible was about to bring it all crashing down.

"I understand that," she said softly.

"We'll run the tests, and I'll get back to you as soon as I possibly can. I'll hound the lab at all hours so you don't lose any sleep over this. Hell, I'll do the lab work myself."

She managed a tiny, weak smile, and she breathed deeply to calm herself. She gazed out the window, and her body relaxed at the sight of the city below.

"I always feel better looking out a window in this city. Is that strange?" she asked, turning slowly toward me.

"No," I said, because I did the same thing.

"When I lose a patient and I feel like crying and screaming and quitting medicine forever, I go to the top floor of the hospital and just sit by the window," she said, her voice quiet, distant. "I like to think about all the people living their lives, making the city come to life. And I remember that for every child I lose, there are others out there somewhere, alive and well, because of me."

I nodded, because frankly, I couldn't say a single word even if I wanted to. She spoke with such passion and conviction, and such heartbreaking sincerity, that I wondered if I understood medicine at all. I surrounded myself with windows—in my office, in this hospital, at home—but I never thought about why. I just did, because it felt right. I did, because it was better therapy than any drug on the market.

"Does that make any sense at all?" she asked, her eyes pleading.

"Yes," I managed, incapable of tearing my eyes away from hers. They were glistening in the bright light of the room, and I wondered for a second if she might cry. Instead, she just nodded, and returned her gaze to her hands, and waited for me to continue.

"I'll step out for a second and let you change into a gown," I said, summoning the only role I knew how to play.

She nodded and I stepped out of the room, taking a long, slow breath to get my bearings. I felt like my whole fucking world was shifting, and I wanted it to stop, I wanted to go back to the way things were. But in so many other ways, I didn't think I could ever go back, even if I wanted to.

A few minutes later I went back in, to find Bella sitting on the examining table, dangling her feet over the edge. She looked so vulnerable in her hospital gown, like she could succumb to the slightest breeze. Her suit made her look indestructible, professional. Here, she looked like my patient, like someone I needed to help, care for, treat…something. I felt responsible for her.

"You know the drill," I said, smiling to soothe her, to ease her nerves. But as soon as I touched her, just to place my fingers delicately on her wrists to feel her blood pulsing on her veins, I felt a current shoot through me like a live wire. I heard her breath hitch ever so slightly in her throat, but I said nothing. I was too busy trying to control my own breathing.

I managed to take her vitals and her blood pressure, moving slowly and diligently through the full exam. I drew her blood quickly, thankful that she had good veins so I didn't have to cause her any more pain than necessary. I listened to her lungs, and then her heart, using every one of my senses and years of experience to guide me. I was strictly her doctor now, and while I certainly noticed and appreciated her beautiful form, I focused solely on the diagnostic task at hand. And ultimately, I found nothing.

"See?" she said, leaning back on the table, cocking her head. "I'm as healthy as a horse."

"Not all horses are healthy," I countered, but I had a smirk on my face. "Take Barbaro. He had a bad leg, and no one knew it. And then…"

She rolled her eyes. "Dr. Cullen, if you told that story to another patient, they would be in tears by now. You can't compare your patients to dead horses."

"Yeah, but you have a thick skin," I argued. I grinned at her, because she was happy again, like any patient would be after a normal exam. I was glad I could give her that, for now at least.

"That's true. Well, as much as I would love to spend the night here, I should be going."

"I'll walk you out," I said. "I'm afraid I can't drive you home tonight, I'm on call."

"I can find my way to the bus stop," she smirked, climbing off the table.

"Psh, don't be ridiculous. I'm putting you in a cab."

"Waste of money," she huffed.

"Spoken like a true resident," I retorted. "Look, you came all the way over here after a long shift, let me at least pay for your cab fare."

"Do you do that for all your patients?"

"Maybe," I teased.

"Uh huh," she said. "Are you going to make me walk out of here in this gown?"

She gave me a sly little grin, which made my nerves hum. Was she _flirting_ with me?

"I apologize. I'll step out—"

"Oh, for god's sakes, just turn around and I'll change. You've already seen it all."

That was true, but I didn't think about it that way. When you're examining a patient, you try not to think of them as…well, as I was thinking about Bella right now. So I did as she commanded, and I turned around, facing the door like a scolded child.

It took her a total of 30 seconds to change, at which point she cleared her throat, signaling me to turn around. She was back in her suit, but her long chestnut hair fell lightly on her shoulders, framing her lovely face and soft, glowing smile.

"All set?" I asked, as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

"Mmhm," she nodded, and I opened the door, following her lead. We walked slowly down the hall, saying nothing, stalling for reasons neither one of us really understood. I was starting to understand, but I was too much of a pussy and a realist to admit it.

When we reached the front desk, I called her a cab and we waited at the turnaround for it to pull up. I just kept thinking about the touch of her skin, that first contact that burned my blood like a hot, insatiable flame. I could feel it even now, with her so close; I could smell the subtle scent of strawberries in her hair, and could hear the delicate cadence of her breathing. She was so subtly alluring, so exquisite, and I had spent every moment since we met trying to convince myself otherwise.

"I should have the tests back by Wednesday at the latest," I said, breaking a long, but natural silence. We were sitting outside on the steps, watching the buses and cars go by, enjoying another beautiful night in San Francisco.

"Will you call me?" she asked.

"I'd rather talk to you in person."

She sighed, wrapping her arms around her legs. "It's hard for me to come all the way over here, you know."

"Then I'll come to the General," I said, without even thinking about it. I hadn't stepped foot in there since my residency; hell, I didn't even know where it was. I guess that's why this place had free shuttles, although I didn't exactly take advantage of those, either.

"No, don't do that," she said quickly, shaking her head. Her hair bounced lightly on her shoulders, becoming tangled in the cool, steady wind. She looked a little less put-together, a little more carefree. I wondered what had changed. I wondered if tomorrow, or the next day, she would go right back to seeing me as Edward Cullen, the evil doctor who came bearing bad news.

"Then let's meet halfway," I said, angling my body toward her. She looked at me, her eyes blazing, a questioning look on her face.

"Where?" she asked.

"At dinner."

"Dinner? As in a hospital cafeteria?"

"No, as in a restaurant where normal people go to sustain themselves," I teased.

"Is this a dinner between colleagues?"

"Do you want it to be?" I asked, suddenly nervous. I brushed a few wayward strands out of my face and waited for her to answer, because shit, she was taking her good old time.

"Well, I don't want it to be a patient-doctor thing," she said, a tiny smile appearing on her lips.

"Then where does that leave us?"

"Hmm," she mused, as the cab pulled up. "I guess we'll find out."

She stood up, brushed off her skirt and ran her fingers through her hair, a futile effort against the wind. I always felt like this when she left. I always felt like shit, basically.

"I'll pick you up at 8," I said, handing the driver a twenty.

"Didn't you say you have no concept of time?" she asked, a teasing smile dancing on her lips, gleaming in her eyes.

"I'll make an exception for you," I said, as she climbed in.

I wanted to touch her, to hold her hand or do _something_, just to feel it again. I didn't want to wait until Wednesday night; I didn't want to wait another minute. And I didn't know why, I didn't know what was happening, but this girl was confusing me and changing me and driving me crazy all at once, and I realized I was a fool for denying it. And maybe, more importantly, I was a fool for giving in.

But I was still Edward Cullen, still the stubborn, detached son-of-a-bitch who struggled to let anyone in, who refused to let his emotions dictate the way he practiced medicine. But this wasn't medicine anymore, was it? The lines were so blurred that I couldn't see straight anymore.

"You've already made too many exceptions," she murmured. "I hope you realize that, Dr. Cullen."

"I've only made one," I said, losing myself in her puzzling, arresting gaze.

"And what is that?" she asked.

"You, Bella," I said, my voice barely audible in the raging wind. "But I think you already knew that."

***

**Please review! It would make me so happy! Thank you!! :)**


	11. PE Skills

**A/N**: This is a short chapter, just a way to reconnect with Rosalie and get into Bella's head. Plus, I wanted to keep it light before it all hits the fan.

PE Skills = Physical Exam skills = I was tested on this recently, and my fake patient looked EXACTLY like Taylor Lautner. Oh man, what a weird day. Anyway, that was off-topic. haha.

Thank you for reading! And to those who reviewed, I'm thrilled with the positive feedback! You guys keep me motivated. :)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Twilight.

***

**Chapter 11: PE Skills  
**

**BPOV**

When I walked in the door to my apartment ten minutes later, Rosalie was lounging on the couch, watching a late-night marathon of The Girls Next Door. I hated to admit that I was the one who introduced her to that show, but seriously, it's quality programming. And Rosalie loved it, especially the focus on blondes.

"Hey, Rosalie," I said, flipping on the kitchen light. By the looks of it, she had been sitting on that couch for hours.

"Hey," she said, keeping her eyes on the TV screen. "So I'm thinking for my next job, I could try out for this show."

"Sounds great," I said, throwing my bag on the couch.

"It looks like the only two requirements are huge boobs and blond hair."

"Then you should try out. Hef would love you."

I walked into my room and changed quickly into sweats and a t-shirt, and joined her on the couch. I noticed her notepad with two columns, titled "Pros and Cons of Being on This Show." I started laughing and Rosalie turned to me, her eyes widening as she spoke.

"Holy hell," she said. "Where have _you_ been?"

"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious. I felt the familiar flush of embarrassment rise in my cheeks.

"For a 15-hour workday, you're practically glowing. Did you have a hot date you didn't tell me about?" she smirked, focusing her full attention on me. I started to wish she would scold me for laughing at her list.

"Um, no," I stammered. "And I'm not…glowing."

"Oh come on, Bella. Usually you come in here all huffy and pissed off and looking like an old hag. Tonight you tell me to try out for a part in Hugh Hefner's coven of busty ladies. And you thought I didn't notice, but you were _smiling_ when you came in."

"I look like an old hag?" I teased.

"Oh, you know what I mean. You usually look tired. Don't change the subject."

"Ugh," I sighed, crossing my arms. I let out a little huff of frustration, because Rosalie had a gift for this kind of thing.

"I had a doctor's appointment."

"Ohhh," she said, grinning deviously. "Is that so?"

"Yes," I said, fighting a smile.

"Tell me about this _doctor's appointment_," she said, clearly meaning something else.

"It was a follow-up appointment for that fainting episode I had in the park."

"Go on…"

I could feel my cheeks burning, knowing that Rosalie was on to me and was not going to let this die.

"Well," I stammered, shifting in my seat.

"Oh come on, Bella, I already know about you and Edward Cullen. I want to hear more about this doctor's appointment, namely the physical exam part."

"Rosalie! How the hell do you know—"

"Emmett tells me things."

I knew Rosalie had seen Emmett twice over the weekend, and it made sense that she would ask about Edward. She wasn't nosy, just…genuinely interested. She always told me to date more, to worry less, to stop neglecting my "needs."

"What did he tell you?" I asked cautiously.

"He said you went to dinner with Edward on Friday night."

"Oh," I mumbled sheepishly. Rosalie looked a little hurt that I hadn't told her, and I started to feel guilty. "It was a business dinner."

"It was a birthday dinner."

"It was business for me, though. I didn't know anyone there," I protested.

"Bella, it doesn't matter. I mean, it matters because Edward Cullen is freakishly hot, and you should hit that, but it doesn't matter that you didn't tell me about your date."

"It wasn't a date!"

"Why are you in denial about this?" she asked, her eyes blazing, shattering my resolve. Sometimes I wondered what Rosalie would have been like as a doctor; she clearly did not tolerate bullshit. She probably would have used her stethoscope as a weapon.

"I'm not," I argued, staring blankly at the giddy blonde on the screen. I couldn't help but notice her horrific boob job, and the incompetent surgeon that had loaded her up with silicon—

"Bella," she said, snapping me out of it. "Look, I'll tell you about my dates if you spill about yours."

"You already told me every detail," I reminded her.

"Even when Emmett used his pen light to—"

"Yes, you told me about that."

"Okay, fine. Doesn't matter. At least tell me about tonight. Please?" she asked, sounding like a kid trying to get out of detention. I had a feeling she had used this voice many, many times for that very reason.

I sighed in defeat, and Rosalie smiled. I couldn't deny her, and as much as I hated to admit it, her cheery curiosity kept me grounded in reality, and reminded me that I had a life outside the wards.

"He wanted to see me for more tests, so I went after my shift to see him."

"Let's move to the physical exam."

"_Oh my God_, Rosalie," I said in sheer exasperation. "You're like thirteen!"

"I know," she said, chuckling mischievously. "But did you see his hands? I mean, whoa, to have those fine instruments roaming my—"

"It wasn't like that, Rose. He's a professional."

"I understand that, but come on, you're human. More importantly, you're a woman. So?"

"He did a brief exam," I mumbled.

"And?"

"Well, of course he has nice hands. He's a doctor."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean…you know," I managed, blushing furiously.

"Stop being all demure and shit and just spit it out, Bella! I'm dying here!"

"Well, yeah, of course I enjoyed it," I said, my voice so soft that Rosalie was leaning in to hear. "I've been examined a million times, but Edward...I don't know, it felt different."

"I bet it did," she smirked.

"Yeah, well, unfortunately for me, he knew it, too. He took my pulse and he had this strange look on his face."

"Maybe he thought you were going to combust from all that tension," she teased.

"Or maybe he was just amused that I was reacting to him like a typical teenager."

"No, I don't think that's it," she said, her tone more serious. "I bet he was using every bit of resolve he had to keep himself from flinging you down on that flimsy table and giving you an exam to remember."

I rolled my eyes, but I could feel my face on fire. Rosalie was smiling widely now, clearly amused by my discomfort. I had that image in my mind now, and my view of exam rooms would probably never be the same.

"It doesn't matter, Rosalie," I said, trying to think straight. "If I'm going to be his patient, then it needs to stay professional."

"Says who? Is there a manual for patient-doctor relationships? Give me a break, Bella."

"Plus, you know, he might be my boss someday, if I rotate at UC—"

"Do you always make this many excuses?" she asked.

"No, I just feel like…I don't know. He's closed off somehow. I couldn't be with someone who keeps things from me."

"I see," she said, slipping into a rare silence. I started to get antsy.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Emmett mentioned the very same thing to me," she said, studying my reaction. She spoke slowly and deliberately, as if for once, she was thinking about what she wanted to say. "No one really knows Edward."

"Exactly," I said. "Why would I be any different?"

"You _are_ different, Bella. Emmett was floored by what Edward did that night at the club. He just doesn't do things like that, apparently."

"He would have done it for anyone," I mumbled.

"Bullshit," she retorted. "And you know it."

We sat in silence for a few seconds, while Rosalie stared me down. She was right, of course. But I still had my reservations—a lot of them.

"He asked me to dinner," I said finally, and Rosalie's eyes grew wide.

"When?" she pressed.

"Wednesday night."

"You said yes, right?"

I paused, letting her squirm for just a bit. She deserved it.

"Right?" she asked again.

"I said I'd go," I said slowly.

"Thank God," she said, exhaling in dramatic fashion. "It's a good thing I live with you, Bella."

"Why? So you can take advantage of my cooking skills?" Rosalie was a horrific cook, and I had a feeling her diet would consist solely of Chinese take-out and burritos if she didn't live here.

"Well, yeah, that's part of it. But no, this time I'm here to help you brush up on your dating skills."

"I have dating skills," I mumbled.

"Right," she said, rolling her eyes. "In any case, we're going to start with your wardrobe."

"What about my wardrobe? I'm meeting him after work, I'll be in my usual suit—"

"Don't even tell me you were thinking about wearing a suit on a date."

"Well, I…maybe…" I muttered.

"I'm sorry, Bella, but we're giving the pediatrician in you a night off."

***

**Thanks as always for reading!!**


	12. Paternal Inheritance

**A/N:** Another pretty short chapter, so I'm posting it early. Sorry for the drastic change in tone from that last chapter - it just kind of happened that way! More information about Edward's backstory to be revealed later on...

I dated a guy who called his dad (biological - not a stepfather) by his first name, so...apparently this isn't that unusual.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! I appreciate all of your comments!!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Twilight.

*****  
**

**Chapter 12: Paternal Inheritance  
**

**EPOV**

I didn't have even a second to think about what I had just done, as I closed the car door and watched the cab take off down the hill. Jasper suddenly appeared at my side, looking panicked.

"Someone's coding," he said, looking toward the hospital entrance. "I'm sorry, I saw you come out here—"

"Let's go," I sighed.

I could see a very long night ahead of me.

***

I spent the entire night in the hospital, sleeping at my desk for an hour or two, hounding residents and attending to patients whenever someone had the nerve to page me. It turned out a bus driver had nodded off at the wheel somewhere on Haight street, and we ended up with the casualties. But I knew that as bad as Monday had been, it couldn't possibly compare to Tuesday.

Fortunately Jasper seemed to be on some kind of amphetamines, or maybe it was just Brandon's presence, and he happily obliged every one of the tasks I gave him. Brandon was her usual chipper, competent self, and I thought about thanking her, or complimenting her—but no, that would be too much. She knew I valued her presence on my wards; she knew me better than I liked to think.

At 5 pm on Tuesday evening, when the chaos was just beginning to ebb, I slipped out the back door and into the breezy afternoon. I was irritable, and anxious, and not at all excited about this yearly ritual. But it was inescapable, as regular as a birthday or Christmas or any other day of the year that no matter how hard you tried, no matter what you did, you simply had to endure it.

I walked to my Volvo in the corner of the parking garage, grateful for the few moments of peace its silent interior could offer me. I began my slow, long trek across the city, climbing the hills and meandering through traffic, annoyed by the congestion on the streets. I never drove during rush hour. Fucking stupid, but unfortunately, unavoidable.

We met at 6 pm for dinner, at the same place, on the same day, as we had for over a decade. And when I walked into the cramped, dimly-lit dining room at precisely six o'clock, he was sitting at his usual table, sipping club soda and lime.

"Edward," he said in greeting, standing up.

He shook my hand firmly, exactly the way he taught me, so many years ago. One of my first memories was the grimace I fought as he shook my tiny hand, feeling the pain from his strong, fatherly grip. As a boy, I hated to disappoint him. As a man, my attitude was much the same, though he never knew it.

"Good to see you, Carlisle," I said, taking my seat across from him. The waitress descended on me immediately, and I waved her away. "How have you been?"

"Can't complain, aside from the usual aging process. You look well, Edward."

I cleared my throat, my usual reaction to Carlisle's strained, rare compliments. I knew he meant this one purely as a formality, but it still unsettled me. It disrupted the flow of our usual businesslike tone.

"How was your flight?" I asked, suddenly wishing I had ordered a gin and tonic from that damn waitress.

"Fine. A bit of rain leaving Seattle, but otherwise uneventful."

"How are things in Forks?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Carlisle still practiced there, as he had since I was born. He embodied the true small-town doctor, the benevolent soul who knew his patients better than his own family. This stereotype, I realized, certainly applied to him.

"The same, I'd say. Do you remember the Weber family?"

I nodded, vaguely recollecting some distant high school memory. I might have taken a Weber girl to the prom one year. I couldn't remember; hell, I'd probably blocked it out.

"Well the youngest just finished nursing school, and she's working in my office."

"You could use the help," I commented.

"I suppose so," he said. He sounded resigned, almost like an old man. Every year he seemed older, somehow; physically, I noticed the grey streaks in his hair, the creases around his eyes. But it wasn't his appearance that made him older; it was the way he spoke, the words he used. At some point, he had stopped looking ahead; now, it seemed, he only looked back.

"That's one of the reasons I'm here, Edward," he said, keeping his eyes on mine, a true creature of habit. Carlisle understood the importance of a visual connection—not just in medicine, but with every human being he had ever encountered. He commanded people's attention, just as he commanded mine.

"One of the reasons?" I said, eyeing him quizzically. He didn't usually approach the topic so directly.

"Well, of course I'm here for your mother."

I grimaced infinitesimally, and his eyes softened. I felt like a fool for reacting so transparently in front of him, but I couldn't help it. Any mention of her was like a siren in my brain.

"I know," I said, noticing the edge to my voice. I hated how fucking weak I was; I hated that Carlisle could do this to me.

"But I'm also here to ask you to come home."

His words thundered in my ears, choking the air out of my lungs. I felt my whole body tense, and I was suddenly aware of the hard edges of the chair pressing into my spine. Carlisle's stare was unwavering, and somewhere in the shadows of his green eyes, I could perceive a silent, desperate plea. I wanted to answer, to say anything at all, but the words caught in my throat.

"Not now," he said finally, taking a long, slow sip from his glass. "In a few years, maybe. Forks needs a good doctor, and I won't be around forever."

"No," I choked out, taking a swig of water, because goddammit, that waitress had disappeared. "Why would you even ask me that?"

"Forks is your home, Edward."

"I haven't lived in Forks in fifteen years."

"That doesn't change a damn thing," he argued, his voice rising. Carlise had raised his voice only once in his life, and it was a little over fifteen years ago, the day the Cullen family began its slow, torturous downward spiral that brought us to moments like these, when father and son acted like strangers.

"Carlisle, I'm sorry," I said, forcing myself to breathe. "It's just unrealistic."

"How?" he pressed. "You can practice anywhere."

"I'm established here. I like it here."

"I'm not saying today, Edward. I'm just asking you to think about it, for the future."

I sighed, long and deep and painfully silent. I knew what I wanted to say, I knew what I should say, but I couldn't break the one fraying shred of contact I had with my father, as much as I dreaded this day, year after year.

"I can't ever go back there," I said in a hushed, strained whisper.

"Edward," he sighed, his expression bitter, his eyes an angry, piercing green. "Hasn't it been long enough?"

"No," I said, because it was the fucking truth. It would never be long enough.

"How can you say that when you live here? Does it not occur to you that Esme grew up here, that her family is here, that she's buried here? How is it that you can handle this place, but not Forks?"

"It's different," I muttered. "It's completely different."

"How, Edward? " he pushed. "Tell me how."

He would break me, I knew. He often did, when he came here, if he felt like I needed to hear it. I wondered if he was trying to chase me away, if he was hoping that one year, if he pushed me hard enough, I would cut him off completely, annihilating the last remnants of the Cullen family.

"Why does it fucking matter?" I spat.

"Don't you think about her? After all she did for you? How can you live here, two miles from her grave, and not think—"

"Don't pretend to know what I'm thinking, Carlisle. You have no fucking idea what I'm thinking."

If Carlisle had come here to provoke me, he had succeeded. Of course he would, on this day, of all days. The day she had begged me to let her go, begged me to understand that no matter how much she loved me, she couldn't live through it anymore. She just couldn't fucking take it. And finally, because the tears were streaming down her face and she was pleading with me like I was the only one who could grant her the absolution she so desperately wanted, I had given in. And it was that simple, really. Dying was simple. Living was complicated as fuck.

"I didn't come here to upset you," he said, inhaling sharply.

"Then what _did_ you come here for?"

"I just…I don't understand you, Edward. I thought that after Esme died, you and I would have…"

"Would have what?" I demanded.

"I didn't think we would end up like this." He paused, looking toward the window for peace, or maybe for release. "Like strangers."

"We aren't strangers. We're two pathetic, dysfunctional pieces of a broken family. And it isn't salvageable, Carlisle. You just don't seem to grasp that."

"This isn't what Esme would have wanted." His voice cracked as he spoke her name, and I felt a hot rush of anger, grief, and frustration fester in my mouth, lacing my tongue like acid.

"No," I agreed. "It's not."

Her face flashed before my eyes, clear as a photograph, tinged with nostalgia and desecrated by years of sorrow and failure and defeat. I wondered what Esme would say, if she could see us now. I wondered everyday, what Esme would say, if she knew how desperately I tried to save every one of my patients, as though I were saving her.

We sat in silence for a few pained minutes, and the waitress finally came over and took my drink order. She returned with a pint-sized glass of gin, and I brought it to my lips in a swift, fluid motion, savoring its bitter burn down the length of my throat.

***

**I love reviews! Thanks everyone! Longer chapter coming up next time!! :)**


	13. Flulike Symptoms

**A/N: **Adding some more symptoms to the mix... :)

Thank you as always for reading!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these people.

***

**Chapter 13: Flu-like Symptoms  
**

**BPOV**

I woke up on Tuesday morning feeling like death. I couldn't move a muscle without groaning in agony, and I felt frustrated, angry even, but not concerned. It felt like the flu, and I was pissed about getting that damn flu shot for nothing.

I slowly climbed out of bed, using my hands to maneuver my legs over the side of the mattress. I didn't feel feverish, or even sick in any way, but my body hurt all over. I felt like I had gone to bed a young twenty-something, and woke up a centegenarian. If this is what it felt like to be 100, then forget it, I was checking out long before that milestone.

I rose to my feet slowly, cautiously. I was actually worried about falling, because my legs felt like jelly, wobbling beneath me as though I was standing on my own two feet for the very first time. I was due into work in three hours, and I decided that no matter how many drugs I had to take, I would be there on time, looking healthy and eager. The hell with the flu.

As soon as I took a step, though, my legs collapsed under me and I fell in a heap on the cold wooden floor. I cursed under my breath, wincing in pain. Rosalie threw the door open and came rushing in, and her eyes widened in horror as she took in the sight of me moaning on the floor.

"Bella! Are you okay?" she exclaimed, wrapping her arm around me.

"I'm okay," I croaked, but my joints were throbbing, and I thought I heard a crack when I fell.

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

"I just…I just fell. I don't know," I said, feeling dazed.

"I'll take you to the hospital."

"No!" I protested, snapping my head up. "I'm fine, Rosalie. Really."

"You don't look fine," she said defiantly, her voice quivering slightly with concern.

"I don't have to be in work for another few hours. Let me just wait it out and see how it feels."

"A broken bone isn't going to just heal itself, Bella. Jeezus, who's the doctor here?"

"I know, Rose," I sighed. I felt a wave of crushing exhaustion wash over me, and I suddenly just wanted to sleep forever.

"I'm worried about you," she said, and her voice was trembling noticeably now. Her eyes burned with worry, and I wanted to ease her fears, but honestly, I had no idea what the hell was wrong with me.

I met her heavy gaze, and I tried to summon the energy to tell her I was fine, to convince her I knew what I was talking about. But instead I felt the exhaustion and the frustration and the nagging concern implode in a rush of emotion, and I broke down. I just completely lost it in front of Rosalie, my shoulders heaving with heavy sobs, and for the first time in a long fucking time, I let myself cry.

Rosalie tightened her hold on me, bringing me towards her, stroking my hair as I soaked her shirt with salty tears. I had cried over patients, cried over the sick children who looked at me with innocent, pleading eyes. I had cried over the ones I couldn't heal, and cried at my own failures. But this was different. This was the realization that my life was coming apart at the seams, and something _was_ wrong with me. Something was terribly wrong.

"It's okay," Rosalie whispered, rocking me gently as every hour, every minute of my devotion to medicine flashed before my eyes. I had worked so hard, so fucking hard, to get to this moment. All the time, the energy, the money, the sleep I had given up to do what I loved, to be good at it, to call it my own…what if I lost that? What if, right now, I was about to lose it all?

I managed to stifle my sobs, wiping the tears off my face with a defiant brush of my hand. I tried to sit up straight, but my back ached, and I let out another moan of pain.

"Bella, I really think you should see a doctor," she said softly.

"It might be the flu," I said, but even Rosalie knew I didn't believe that.

"Why don't you call Edward? I'll bring you in to the ER."

"No!" I said, horrified at the thought of Edward seeing me like this. "Not now, Rosalie. Let's just wait an hour. Please?"

She looked skeptical, but for once, she didn't protest.

"Let me help you," she said, steadying her grip on my hip, lifting me up slowly. I stifled a sob as the pain seared through me, so intense that it blinded my vision. I saw black shadows creeping in from the periphery, and I thought I might pass out.

"Are you okay?" she said, as I stalled to steady myself.

"Yes," I mumbled.

She helped me into bed, but I wanted to be sitting up so that I wouldn't fall asleep. I gestured toward the bedside table, and she took out a bottle of painkillers, which I had promised myself I would use only as a last resort.

"These?" Rosalie asked, holding up the bottle.

"What does it say?"

"It's Vicodin. Shit, Bella, that's some strong stuff."

"I know…maybe I could make do with some ibuprofen," I said, reconsidering.

"No! You need the goods. Take it," Rosalie said. She bustled into the kitchen and returned quickly with a glass of water. I felt the large pill slip down my throat, desperate for the pain to subside.

"Thanks, Rosalie," I said quietly, closing my eyes to shut out the shooting pain in my leg. If I had broken something getting out of bed, I wasn't sure I could admit that to someone. How uncoordinated was I?

"Just rest today, Bella. Please? I really don't think you should go into work."

"But it isn't a regular job, Rose. I can't just miss work. I'm supposed to be working 80 hours a week. Preferably more, if the hospital had its way."

"Well that's bullshit. You can't take care of patients if you can't walk."

There was no use arguing with Rosalie when she looked at me like that, so I just sighed in defeat.

"Fine," I said. "You win."

"I win when you let me take you to the ER. This is more like a tie."

I rolled my eyes, but Rosalie was not amused. Concern flashed in her features, and I knew I didn't deserve a friend like her, as impulsive and crazy as she could be sometimes. If she hadn't been here, I would have dragged myself into work somehow.

"Okay," I said, letting the fatigue wash over me like a warm blanket. I drifted off to a dreamless, drug-induced sleep, thankful for a brief respite from the nightmare I had woken up to.

***

The room was dark when I opened my eyes, and for a few seconds, I thought I was in the residents' call room, waking up from a two-hour night's sleep. But my eyes adjusted slowly to the dark, familiar outline of my bedroom, and I rolled over to look at the clock.

It was just after five, which meant I had slept for a solid ten hours, longer than I had slept continuously since my med school days. The morning's events flooded my memory, and I shuddered at the thought of getting out of bed. But I didn't feel much pain when I moved this time, just a general soreness. I wondered if maybe I had dreamed the whole thing.

I got out of bed slowly, and I winced in pain when I put weight on my left foot. I remembered the crack I had heard this morning, and it seemed like a broken bone was a distinct possibility now. Great. Just what I needed.

I forced myself to take a few steps toward the door, and when I looked out into the living room, I saw a note on the coffee table.

_Ran out to get a burrito. Back soon!_

I loved Rosalie to death, but seriously, she needed to acquire some cooking skills. I'd bring it up later.

I chased another Vicodin and walked back into my room, glancing at the clock and deciding that today was salvageable. I could work a 24-hour shift, and still meet Edward for dinner. I had done it before. I had to make up for today's disaster somehow.

***

"Bella!"

I whirled around to see Dr. Denali shouting my name, waving me over. He looked uncharacteristically serene, and I silently thanked the gods that I had caught him in a good mood. I wasn't sure I could handle another lecture about sick days, which "didn't exist" in residency.

"Hi, Doctor," I said, smiling politely. I had to fight a grimace with each step I took, but the pain was bearable. Probably just a bad sprain.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I lied. I felt slightly better, but I was looking at that bench longingly.

"I got your message this morning. You said you might have broken something?"

I swallowed hard, trying to remember a phone call I might have made. Nothing came to mind.

"I…um…"

Then it clicked. Rosalie. And her penchant for impersonating me.

"No," I said, recovering quickly. "A bad fall, but I'm fine."

"You seem to be limping a bit. We could take an x-ray."

"No, no," I protested. "That won't be necessary. I apologize for missing the day—I know it puts the rest of the team in a difficult position."

"Today was uneventful, Bella. No need to worry."

I sighed with relief, although I wondered how differently this conversation might have gone if today had been its usual chaotic mess. I didn't want to think about it.

"Am I too late for rounds?" I asked.

"No, we were just about to begin." He turned and I followed, enduring a few nasty glares from the more competitive residents. My God, these people were harsh.

We went from room to room, checking in with patients, speaking with their parents and updating them on their progress. My mood immediately lifted at the sight of my little patients, whose faces lit up in bright smiles when we walked in. They had not yet come to associate doctors with pain, I realized. They only wanted to get better, and that's who we were to them: their helpers.

Dr. Denali did all of the speaking on rounds, while the residents observed and added a bit of insight when necessary. He occasionally quizzed us, or solicited our opinions, not to evaluate us but to teach us something. As gruff as Dr. Denali could be sometimes, I appreciated his expertise, and his carefully-veiled patience.

When we left the room of the last patient, Dr. Denali said he was heading home for the night, leaving the rest of us to our own devices. I loved the nights—the quiet, subdued halls, aside from the beeping of the monitors and the rattling of the beds being wheeled down the halls. I still felt drained, but not tired. I wanted to see my patients, who I missed terribly as soon as I went home.

Most of the children were sleeping, accompanied by their parents who slept in awkward positions in their chairs, afraid to leave the room. I was rotating in the ICU, and most of the children here were critically ill. I wondered what it would be like to be a parent, terrified by the slightest gasp, or deep breath, or beeping of the monitor. I wondered if some of these parents simply got used to it.

At the end of the hall, I found Sam sitting up in bed, flipping through the television channels. The selection was dreadful for a kid, and I thought of the rooms at Edward's hospital, equipped with movies, cable, and every video game console on the market. The kids at the General weren't so lucky.

"Hey, Sam," I said, rapping gently on the door. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," he said in his usual dull tone. He was thirteen, a kid missing on out his teens, a time when most boys wished they could crawl into a hole and stay there for five years. Sam, on the other hand, would give anything to trade the ICU for the agony of adolescence.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, taking a seat by the bed. I hated standing over patients, and I could tell they felt the same way. Powerless. Vulnerable. As if they needed to feel that any more than they already did.

"Fine," he said.

"Where's your dad?" I asked, picturing Sam's father in my head, his face creased with worry. I had never seen Sam's mother, and I had a feeling she wasn't in the picture.

"He's at work."

"I see," I said, glancing up at the television.

"Anything on?" I asked.

"Nope. As usual," he grumbled.

"I scrounged this up," I said, handing him the only PSP in the building, a gift from one of the hospital's few wealthy donors. Few residents even knew about it, but I had my ways.

"Holy shit," he muttered, taking it in his hands. "Where'd you get this?"

"I'm a hardcore gamer," I said, shrugging my shoulders.

"Bullshit." A wide grin illuminated his face, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Okay, fine. I admit the only portable gaming thing I've ever experienced was the original GameBoy."

"Oh yeah, I've seen those. My dad dragged me to the Museum of Natural History last month."

He laughed at my expense, which was completely fine with me. I was thrilled to see him smiling; I worried about Sam all the time, not just because he had a terminal illness, but because his outlook on life seemed to be dwindling daily.

"I'm not _that_ old," I protested.

"No," he said, still smiling. "You're not."

It didn't escape my notice that a lot of the teenage boys in here asked for me, but I understood why. Sam tried to keep it on the down-low, but I knew he had a crush. If it lifted his spirits to see me, even a little bit, then I felt I was making a difference in his life.

"So it looks like you're busting out of here in a few days," I said, while he fiddled with the PSP.

"Yeah," he said. "Whoopee."

"Don't you want to go home?" I asked.

"I guess. I don't exactly fit in at school, you know. I'm so sick of the fucking stares."

I couldn't pretend to know what that felt like, walking around middle school with a few wisps of hair and a strikingly thin frame. His face was a pale, ghastly white, and the bones protruded from every inch of his body. But he had a brilliant, beautiful smile, as if to say that no matter what the cancer did to the rest of his body, his smile would hold out.

"I can't imagine what that's like," I said. "But knowing you, I have a feeling you can handle it."

"I do my best," he said. "Do you remember middle school?"

"Let's hope so," I said, chuckling. Was it really that long ago?

"What was it like for you?"

"Awkward."

He laughed, his eyes dancing in the dim light of the room. "I doubt that. I'm sure you were pretty."

"Psh, no," I said, rolling my eyes. "I tripped all the time, my hair was a giant frizz ball, and I blushed so much in Sex Ed that the teacher had to send me to the nurse."

He quirked an eyebrow at me, and when he saw that I was being serious, he laughed long and hard, which sent me into hysterics, too. I was grateful for those years, as humiliating as they were. I wished the same for Sam, whose life had barely started.

"Well," he said, glancing up at me. "At least I don't have a giant frizz ball."

I smiled and rose from my chair, double checking the IV and the orders on his chart.

"I guess this means you have to go," he said, keeping his eyes on the tiny screen.

"Duty calls," I said, satisfied that everything was in its proper order.

"Do I have to give this back soon?"

"Nah. Just don't tell anyone I gave it to you, okay?" I teased.

"No problem," he said, managing a small smile. "Thanks."

"Anytime," I said. And I left him in his room, temporarily distracted by the game in his hands. For Sam, it was the best I could do.

***

I managed to get a few hours of sleep that night, and Tuesday passed quickly. I left promptly at five, and after an uneventful trip on the train, I found Rosalie at home, looking disgruntled.

"Bella, you snuck out!"

"I snuck out to work," I said. "You make it sound scandalous."

"If you did something scandalous, I'd be rejoicing."

"True," I sighed.

She crossed her arms, and I felt my resolve crumble under her gaze.

"I felt better," I explained. "I got some sleep at work. I'm okay. Probably just a freak thing."

"What am I going to do with you? Did you at least get it checked out?"

"I'm fine, Rosalie. Really."

"Ugh," she said, rolling her eyes. "The only reason I didn't come over there and get you is because I felt that if you had to go somewhere, a hospital was the best place."

"Good thinking," I agreed.

"Well, assuming you're okay, which I don't like to assume, but you seem pretty adamant about it—"

"I'm okay," I reiterated.

"I don't believe it, but I'll let it go for now. In any case, I have your date attire selected for this evening, and it's laid out on your bed."

I groaned. I had a feeling I wouldn't see any familiar clothes on my bed.

"I'm afraid," I muttered.

Rosalie cackled with glee, pushing me into my room.

"Well?" she asked, as I cautiously took in the sight on the bed. Sure enough, the piece of clothing on the bed wasn't mine, but I hadn't seen it on Rosalie, either. It wasn't quite her style—a bit too conservative, I'd say. But quite a bit less conservative than what I usually wore.

"Hmm," I said, walking toward the bed. I picked up the knee-length, halter dress, mostly black but trimmed in a subtle, simmering red. I could see the image Rosalie was hoping to convey; I blushed at the thought.

"Put it on. Don't argue with me." She stepped out of the room and shut the door, leaving me alone with her little experiment. It looked so _small—_there was no way I could fit into this thing.

But I tried anyway, because Rosalie probably knew my size better than I did. When I stood in the front of the mirror, I wasn't too surprised to see that it fit perfectly, hugging my hips and chest in all the right places. Why didn't Rosalie do _this_ for a living?

"Okay," I mumbled, and she came rushing in.

She nodded in approval, and I shifted uncomfortably as she eyed me critically.

"Good," she said, smiling. "Very good."

"Rosalie, this dress is so tight—"

"Oh my God, Bella, do not even start. You look incredible. If you come home alone tonight, it means Edward is gay—"

"Rosalie!" I protested, my face flushing a furious crimson. "I do not operate like that."

"We'll see," she said, her eyes shimmering with delight. "If Edward looks half as hot as you do, you might change your mind."

I shook my head in disgruntled amusement, while Rosalie proceeded to prepare the rest of me for my evening with Edward Cullen.

I had absolutely no idea what to expect.

***

**Hmm...I'm trying to keep it mysterious, as medicine often is. ;)**

**And I kind of love Sam - so he's coming back later.  
**

**Please review and make my day!!  
**


	14. The Exam Table

**A/N: **Some important stuff goes down in this chapter, so...yeah, I think that's a good thing. Edward is changing, slowly but surely. It's his own process, but Bella is a strong influence. I'm keeping their dating/relationship history vague, but this may come up later.

Um, some random info about me and myself and its relevance to this story: 1) I usually write in the hospital cafeteria, because it's pretty quiet there at night. It's a strange place, though. 2) All places/parks/neighborhoods I mention in SF are real. 3) My description of the hospitals is pretty accurate. 4) The stethoscope has secret powers - don't ask. 5) I know that pulses are measured in arteries, not veins (but "veins" sounds better in a romance, you know?).

Also, Carlisle and Esme are Edward's biological parents - I didn't mean to cause any confusion (I'm having Edward call him by his first name because it sounds cooler that way, haha).

Note that Platt is Esme's maiden name in Twilight.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

***

**Chapter 14: The Exam Table  
**

**EPOV**

I managed to leave Carlisle on civil terms, although he didn't mention Esme again for the rest of the night. Nor did he mention Forks, although he had achieved his goal of planting the idea in my head, as if there were any chance whatsoever that I would take it. I could never go back there. Too small, too familiar, too isolating. I would never be Carlisle Cullen, the small-town doctor with a perfect family. He knew it, but he had asked me anyway. I guess I couldn't entirely blame him.

I managed to shake off the whole encounter by the time I woke up on Tuesday morning, greeted by bright sunshine and the sound of rush-hour traffic outside my window. I woke up with an unfamiliar, anxious feeling in my stomach, and I wondered what the hell I could possibly be nervous about.

I groaned as I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled into the shower. I wanted to kill mornings. Just eradicate them, forever if possible. Life would be so much better that way.

I was still groggy with sleep when I put on a suit and climbed into my Volvo, which purred to life with its usual long, slow hum. I walked in through the back door, as usual, and found Brandon standing outside my office.

"Good morning," she said, smiling brightly.

"Hi Alice," I said, and her smile disappeared instantly. It took me a second to register her reaction, and I swallowed hard when I realized what I'd done. Shit. I was spending way too much time with Jasper, who talked about her at every possible opportunity.

"It's no use," I said, pulling myself together. "Jasper talks about you all the time. 'Alice' is in my head now."

"It's okay," she said. "I'd like it if you used my first name."

"All right," I said, reaching my hand out to her. "I'm Edward."

Her radiant smile returned, and she shook my hand firmly. "Alice," she said.

"Great to meet you, Alice. Now, what's on the agenda for today?"

"Two new admissions," she said, flipping through her notes. "And you have a few consults."

"Sounds scintillating," I commented dryly.

"As always," she agreed, and I followed her down the hall to see the first patient.

As soon as I stepped into the exam room, the nervous twist in my stomach suddenly made sense. In twelve hours, I would see Bella again. Not as a patient, not as a colleague, but…just Bella.

I liked the thought of that.

***

The day passed slowly, as I knew it would. I finally managed to escape Alice's clutches at 6:30, and by the time I got home, I had only a few minutes to shower, change, and look presentable. I felt like I should have put some more thought into this. What the fuck did people wear on dates? It wasn't exactly my forte.

I showered frantically and shook my hair dry, figuring that the tepid San Francisco air would do the rest. I could probably use a shave, but hell, I didn't think Bella would mind the five o'clock shadow. I threw open the doors to my closet and scanned the racks, which looked woefully…businesslike. I wore different variations on the same thing to work every day, and given how many hours I spent at the damn place, I didn't own much else. I let out a low, frustrated groan.

I looked at my watch, realized I was dreadfully late, and picked out a pair of black slacks and a dark brown shirt, which probably clashed, but I wasn't exactly a fashion guru. I threw on a sports jacket and headed out the door into the night, hoping that a short ride in my car would calm me, as it usually did.

San Francisco is a tiny place when you look at it on the map, and Bella was only a few minutes' drive away. I thought about taking a detour, but I was already late, and I was acting like a kid on his way to the prom. I wondered if she felt even remotely the same way.

I pulled up in front of her apartment, killing the engine on her quiet, shady side street. This street was one of the most beautiful in the city, and it overlooked the downtown to the east and lush, rolling hills to the south. There was a smaller hill just a quarter-mile down the road, and if you climbed it, you could see for miles in every direction. I wondered if Bella had ever ventured there, to admire the city lights she so loved. I wondered what it would be like to take her there.

I climbed the steps slowly and rang the bell, feeling the blood humming in my veins as I waited for someone to answer. I heard a slight pattering on the stairway inside, and I took a deep breath, and ran my hand through my damp, tousled hair.

When she opened the door, that deep breath morphed into a shocked gasp, because holy hell, she looked positively stunning. I was so used to Bella in her charcoal suits and messy ponytails, which also looked amazing, but tonight she looked…well, she didn't look at all like a pediatrician.

"Hey," she said, almost shyly. Her thick chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders, resting just beneath her collarbone. The luscious scent of fruit and freesia infused my senses, and I knew that breathing normal air would never be the same.

"Hey, Bella," I said finally, as my lips curved up in a smile. I couldn't help it. She looked so fucking beautiful, it made my head spin. "You look…incredible."

"Thank you," she said, a delicate pink rising in her cheeks. "Shall we go?"

She stepped out into the chilly night air, and crossed her arms instinctively. She had on a thin sweater, and her shoulders trembled in the breeze.

I opened the door for her and she climbed in gingerly, more so than usual. My clinical mind picked up on it, but I forced myself to push it away.

"I'm sorry I'm a bit late," I said, feeling like an idiot for making her wait.

"It's okay. Ten minutes is hardly late."

"Well, since I promised you otherwise…"

"Don't worry about it, Edward," she said in her soft, smooth voice. I noticed the slightest tremor in her words, and I thought for the briefest second that maybe she was nervous, too.

"I wasn't sure where to take you," I admitted, as we cruised down the steep hill. "So I decided on a friend's restaurant, which I go to often. I hope that's okay."

"Anything is fine with me," she said, brushing the hair from her eyes. "I always welcome a night off from cooking."

"Do you cook?" I asked, wondering where in the world she found the time. I had a feeling Bella was a marvelous cook; she struck me as the type that succeeded at anything and everything she tried.

"I try," she said humbly. "I'm horrible at baking, though."

"I somehow doubt that."

"I'll subject you to it sometime," she said, growing suddenly quiet. If she only knew how much I wanted to see her again, to guarantee another night like this, another time…

But instead I just nodded, and the subject changed to our lives on the wards, because that's what we did. Bella truly loved her work, and it showed in her voice, and her face, and her glowing smile. She was a gifted storyteller, the way she talked about children and parents and their various life stories. I could listen to her all night.

Ten minutes later, we pulled up to a tiny little place in Noe Valley, a quaint neighborhood nestled on the hill beyond the Castro. Even though it was almost 9 on a Wednesday night, the dining room was crowded with chattering patrons. The host recognized me immediately, and escorted us to a table in the far corner.

"Always good to see you, Edward," he said, as we sat down. "How is your father?"

"Good," I said, suddenly reminded of Carlisle's visit. "How is your family?"

"Excellent. Working hard as usual."

"I'm sure. You seem to be doing very well here."

"We're lucky," he said, scanning the room. "It's the Platt tradition."

I smiled at Bella, who looked completely lost. He poured us two glasses of complimentary Pinot Noir, and left us with our menus.

"Platt was my mother's maiden name," I explained, before she could ask. "Her family owns this restaurant."

"Oh," she said, her eyes a soft, penetrating brown. I wondered if she would press for details, if she would ask about my use of the past tense, but I had a distinct feeling Bella wasn't the prying type.

"It's lovely," she said, glancing around the room. "And judging by the crowd, I'm sure the food is very good."

"It is good," I agreed. "Well, I mean, _I_ like it."

She smiled brightly, and took a languid sip from her glass. The waiter returned promptly, and she ordered what he suggested. I did the same, and he bustled into the kitchen, leaving us alone in our secluded corner, warmed by red wine and the cozy lighting of the room.

"Well, I don't want to leave you on edge about your tests," I said finally, leaning in slightly. Her expression tensed, which nearly broke me. I didn't bring her here to worry.

"They're normal," I said quickly, wishing her smile would return. "Everything is normal."

Her eyes actually widened a bit, as though she hadn't expected that. I wondered what had changed in the last few days; I wondered if something had happened…the way she had gotten in the car…the slow, careful steps she took…

"Is something wrong, Bella?" I asked, before I had time to think about it. She glanced down at the table, a shadow falling across her face.

"Can we talk about it later, Edward?" she asked, her eyes pleading.

"Will we?" I asked. Shit, I was worried now.

"Yes. I promise," she said, managing a smile.

"Okay," I agreed, because looking at her face, I had no other choice. If she had come here to forget something, to put it out of her mind, then I no choice but to grant her that.

Her smile brightened, but only for an instant before her pager went off. She glanced down and her face fell. When she looked up again, her expression was longing, apologetic.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I have to stop by the hospital."

"Don't worry about it," I assured her, hoping to ease the strain in her voice. "We'll get everything to go."

"Okay," she said. "I'm so sorry."

"You apologize too much," I scolded, but my tone was light.

"I know," she said in her lovely, quiet voice. "Rosalie tells me the same thing."

"No more apologies tonight. Okay?"

"Okay," she agreed, and her face brightened just a bit.

Our waiter gave us two boxes and we walked out the restaurant towards my car. A light rain had started to fall, and I was thankful that I had parked just across the street. I wanted to touch her, to wrap my arm around her and shield her from the cold, but I hesitated. I felt like there was some kind of barrier, some invisible line I didn't feel quite ready to cross.

I revved the engine and we sped toward the Mission, San Francisco's most diverse neighborhood, a patchwork of taquerias, bars, and thrift stores. The Mission was the pulse of the city, and the General was its beating heart.

"I'll park and wait for you," I said, as we pulled up to the turn-around.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "I'm not sure how long I'll be."

"I'll be in the cafeteria," I said, struggling to remember exactly where that was. I hadn't been here in ages.

"If it takes hours—"

"I'll wait for you, Bella."

"Okay," she said, a soft, radiant smile gracing her face. "I'll see you soon."

***

I found the cafeteria after a quick self-guided tour of the hospital, which was just as I remembered it: anarchic, frenzied, and completely out of control. Oddly, though, the cafeteria was eerily quiet, and I found a table by the window, which looked out onto the streets below. It couldn't compare to the views from my hospital, but it was a window just the same. I could sit here for hours if I had to.

As predicted, I lost track of time, and I was startled by Bella's voice when she came up behind me.

"I'm back," she said, taking the seat beside me. Not across from me, but beside me. I took this as a good sign.

"Everything okay?" I asked, although my thoughts were clouded by the scent of her hair, and the heat of her body next to mine.

"More or less," she said, exhaling deeply. "It was Sam, one of my older patients. He's been here for a long time, and I worry about him."

"Is he all right?"

"Yes…well, now he is. He went into septic shock earlier tonight, and they're giving him a new round of antibiotics. It's so hard with the chemo…"

"I know," I said, sharing the grief in her eyes. Impulsively, I reached out and placed my hand on hers, and I felt every nerve in my body roar to life.

"I'm sor—" she began.

"Bella," I scolded.

She smiled, shaking her head in defeat. "Old habits are hard to break."

"I can't argue with that," I said, and my words held much more meaning than I had intended. She looked at me quizzically, but I changed the subject by unwrapping our boxes, which were cold but still smelled amazing.

"I'll heat these up," she said. "I don't want you wandering around, looking for the microwave."

She returned five minutes later with steaming hot food, and we sat by the window, enjoying the leftovers from my failed attempt to take her to dinner.

"Where's the wine?" she asked.

"Last I checked, they don't offer that to go," I remarked teasingly.

"Oh come on," she chided. "Doesn't Edward Cullen always get what he wants?"

"Not always," I said, meeting her gaze, her eyes burning with questions and uncertainty and unmistakable intensity.

"What do you want right now?" she asked, pushing her plate away, demanding my undivided attention. I happily gave it, although I couldn't suppress a sly, devious smile.

"I want to see what the exam rooms are like at the General," I said simply.

"Is that so?" she asked, in a tone that sounded downright _sultry_.

"Yes."

"Well then," she said, standing up. "Let's take the Bella Swan tour."

"Is it as good as the Edward Cullen self-guided tour?"

"Uh oh, you took a self-guided tour?" she asked, looking horrified.

"Yeah. I'm pretty proud of it. I ended up here, didn't I?" I teased.

"True," she smirked. "I'll see if I can do better."

It was nearly midnight, and the halls were uncharacteristically quiet, as Bella led me through the sinuous wards. I had a feeling she knew this place better than her own apartment, and while I was a bit taken aback by some of the facilities, she took comfort in its rawness. I had to admire her for that.

We made our way to the top floor, most of which was under construction. She stopped in front of one of the new exam rooms, and turned to me.

"Be prepared to be completely blown away," she said, her hand at the door.

"I am," I said, failing to suppress a grin.

We walked into the stark white room, which smelled faintly of disinfectant and wood chips. I noticed the brand new exam table and the flat-screen monitor, which was a definite improvement over the rest of the hospital.

"Very nice," I remarked, although my eyes had already traveled to her exquisite, form-fitting dress, outlined seductively in red. I had a feeling Rosalie played a part in this.

"Do you think so?"

"Yes," I said, momentarily embarrassed because my voice sounded strange. Too rough. Husky even.

"It looks like we ended up dining at a hospital cafeteria after all," she said, but her voice sounded different, too. Lower. Quivering just a bit.

"It wasn't my first choice, but I'm satisfied with it," I said, leaning against the exam table. She had her stethoscope around her neck, which contrasted nicely with the low rise of her dress. Instead of her two personas warring, they seemed to compliment each other.

"Hmm," she mused, walking over to the sink, leaning against it so that our knees were almost touching. This wasn't exactly a large room.

"How the tables have turned," she said.

I read the devilish glint in her eyes, as she ran her fingers along the bell of her stethoscope.

"You can't use that on me, Dr. Swan," I protested, eyeing the object around her neck.

"Why not?" she asked, and her face fell infinitesimally.

"I'm not in a gown."

She smiled sheepishly, and her face flushed a glorious red. I wondered if it felt as warm as it looked. Goddammit, I was about to combust.

"Shall I step out?" she asked demurely.

"No," I said, and my voice was husky as all fuck now. "I don't need a damn gown."

She removed her stethoscope from her neck, but instead of putting it on, as I thought she might, she placed it carefully on the table beside her. She moved a little closer, and I could hear her breathing, which was coming in quick, nervous gasps. She reached out and placed her fingers lightly on my wrist, feeling the blood coursing through my veins.

"Wow," she said, clearly amused. I knew my heart rate was through the roof; hell, I could hear it thundering in my chest.

I took her wrist in my hand, feeling her own blood rushing beneath the surface of her skin, pulsing with life. She gasped at the contact, and she looked up, her eyes dark and deep and throbbing with the same need that I felt in her wrists. I answered that look in her eyes, urgently and completely, as I took her face in my hands and brought her lips to mine, savoring the taste of her as I gave in to every instinct and desire I had felt since I saw her for the very first time. And somehow, impossibly, the reality was better than any meager dream or fantasy I had conjured up. She felt like heaven on fucking earth.

I leaned back against the table, and she moved toward me, keeping her lips on mine, fighting for entrance to my mouth with her slick, wet tongue. I eagerly granted it, and she deepened the kiss with a desperate fervor. A low moan escaped her lips, and I coursed my hands down her body, indulging in the slender curves of her hips and the soft texture of her skin. She tasted like strawberries and flowers and rain, and I savored every detail of her mouth, her taste, her full, delectable lips.

I pulled her closer toward me, letting out a groan as she brought her hips against my raging erection. She whimpered at the contact, and I was fighting the urge to spin her around and set her on this exam table, hike up her glorious dress, and take full advantage of the doctor-patient relationship. But I had to balance that with the slow fire burning in my veins, the urge to explore her, to touch her everywhere, to pay her the slow, careful attention she so deserved.

At the same time, we were in an exam room of all places, and we couldn't risk it. Especially Bella, who was just a resident, who couldn't afford to suffer the embarrassment of getting caught abusing an exam table…

So I broke the kiss, somehow. I don't know where I found the resolve, but it was there somewhere, and when I pulled back, we were both panting heavily. She seemed to understand, although a part of me really wished she would protest. I had a feeling I could be easily persuaded to toss my conservative plan out the window and forget all about propriety. But Bella didn't argue; she just stood there smiling, her cheeks a lovely, dazzling pink.

"That was…nice," she breathed, a teasing smirk on her face. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her brow, as she struggled to catch her breath.

"Very nice," I agreed, recalling our earlier conversation. Her smirk widened into a radiant, irresistible smile.

"Also very inappropriate of me, as your doctor…"

"Yes, very inappropriate," I agreed. "So inappropriate, in fact, that I'd like to schedule my next appointment right now."

She giggled, and I couldn't help but grin. Hell, I'd like to book my next appointment indefinitely if that were possible.

"It's late," I said finally, after a long, but contented silence.

"It is," she agreed, replacing her stethoscope around her neck.

"Come on," I said, taking her by the hand. "I'll drive you home."

***

As we climbed into the car, I remembered Bella's promise to me earlier, and I almost wished I hadn't. I didn't want to bring it up now, not with her looking so unencumbered, and happy, and content.

But it wasn't long before she read the quiet silence, and the transparent concern that was probably etched on my face. She sighed deeply and turned toward me, resting her hand on mine.

"Edward," she said, her tone suddenly serious. "I made a promise to you earlier in the night, but I don't want you to worry."

Well, of course _now_ I was worried. Really worried.

"Just be honest with me, Bella." I locked my eyes with hers, but she broke our gaze, finding solace in the city lights.

"I'm okay," she said, but her eyes betrayed her. "I will tell you sometime, but not tonight."

"Why?" I croaked. Esme's face flashed before me, and I felt my chest tighten at the memory. Esme, who had kept everything from me, to protect me. To make sure I didn't worry. And all along, all I wanted was the truth.

"I don't want tonight to be…like that," she explained. "Like you're the doctor, and I'm your patient. I just want to keep tonight…perfect. Because it was."

I didn't know what the hell to say to that, because if Bella thought tonight was perfect, then I didn't want to ruin it for her.

"It was for me, too," I said, which felt like the truest words I had ever spoken. She smiled sadly, her eyes dark as coal in the near blackness of the car.

I pulled up to her apartment, feeling that familiar emptiness rising in my throat. I could tell she didn't want to leave either, because she sat in the seat, her breathing calm and deliberate.

Finally she turned to face me in the stillness of the car, her skin a pale, fragile white in the shadows of the streetlamps, her expression conflicted. I wanted her to tell me everything, but I knew she wouldn't. Not tonight.

"Good night, Edward," she said softly, leaning toward me. She brushed her lips against my ear, and I felt a shiver down my spine.

"I had a lovely evening," she whispered.

She pulled back slightly, but I found her lips with mine, kissing her sweetly. It was soft and slow, like a reluctant good-bye, and she offered me one last smile as she climbed out of the car and walked up the stairs.

And then she was gone, and I was left with the image of her lovely face in my mind, and her sweet taste on my lips.

***

**Oh snap, major Fail coming. It has to be so! Don't worry, I won't kill Bella off...this isn't The Little Mermaid.**

**I am not a proponent of sex on the first date (just a personal preference - I know it happens, etc. etc.). But this story is rated M for a reason, so...we'll get to that later.  
**

**Please, please review! I was so nervous about getting their first date right, and I hope it was okay. Thank you!!  
**


	15. Anticipatory Nausea

**A/N**: I'm doing a lot of research, hoping to make Bella's diagnosis plausible. So all of these symptoms/episodes are consistent with the diagnosis I have in my head, but it won't be revealed quite yet. Bella's is a difficult case, and I'm still building her relationship with Edward, which will change as her condition progresses. The crux of Edward's inner conflict is that he feels helpless because he can't figure out what's wrong with her, so as soon as I toss a diagnosis out there, that conflict disappears. But he'll get it eventually, I promise!

Anticipatory nausea is common for patients receiving chemotherapy - I mention it briefly in this chapter.

Thank you as always for your kind reviews and encouragement!! My updates will slow down a bit this week, because we have a big test coming up, but I'll do my best.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Twilight, or anything associated with it, except the book (okay fine, my friend printed out a picture of Rob's face and that's in my room somewhere).

***

**Chapter 15: Anticipatory Nausea**

**BPOV**

When I walked inside, Rosalie was asleep on the couch, despite the low drone of the television. She had made a valiant attempt to wait up for me, apparently. Poor thing. She would not be pleased with herself when she woke up in the morning.

I tiptoed into the kitchen and found the bottle of pills by the sink, beckoning me. The sharp pains of yesterday had transformed into a slow, dull ache, which wouldn't go away. I hadn't gone running since my stint in the hospital, and I felt antsy. I wondered if I should just suck it up and go for a run tomorrow.

I crept quietly through the living room, but I tripped over Rosalie's bizarre sit-ups contraption and rammed my shin into the coffee table.

"Goddammitfuckshit!" I yelped, and Rosalie shot up groggily.

"What the—" she asked, looking disoriented. "Oh, Bella! You're home! Where's Edward?"

Wow, she didn't miss a thing, did she? I was rubbing my sore leg, feeling like a clumsy idiot. I collapsed onto the couch and let out a deep breath.

"He went home," I said.

"Did you scare him away?"

"No," I said, managing a smile through the pain. "He's a gentleman, Rosalie."

"Oh, please. Gentleman my ass. Tell me he at least copped a feel."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't suppress a laugh. Rosalie always got straight to the point.

"There was some…copping."

"Really?" she asked, and I was almost embarrassed by her disbelief. Did she really think I was that much of a prude?

"I'm not a virgin, Rose," I reminded her.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I was just hoping you would have gotten it on in his office or some other random place—"

"Hmm, close," I said, and she looked at me quizzically.

"I'll give you all the details in the morning. Aren't you tired?" I asked. I hoped she would say yes, because I was exhausted.

"Is he a good kisser?" she pressed.

"Of course," I said instinctively, and she smiled devilishly. My face flushed at the hasty revelation. Oops.

"Well, this is progress," she announced. "Did you have fun?"

"Mmhm," I said, and my nerves hummed at the memory of Edward's hands on me, touching me, pulling me closer to him. I had to bite my lip to keep from protesting when he pulled away, but I understood why he did it.

"Clearly," Rosalie teased. "When are you seeing him again?"

"I don't know," I said, feeling worried all of a sudden. He hadn't mentioned seeing me again. Was that a bad sign?

"Well you should call him, Bella," Rosalie said, which surprised me. Rosalie usually advocated the playing-it-hard-to-get approach. Women were meant to be chased, as she liked to say.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean…Edward strikes me as the shy type. And he invited you this time, so the ball's in your court."

"When should I call him?" My euphoria hadn't lasted long; now I was downright stressed out. I wanted to see him tomorrow, but that was too soon. Way too soon. All men hated clingy women.

"Whenever you want," she said.

"Help me, Rose! I don't know the rules."

"Oh come on, Bella. We have completely different rules, you know that. If you went by my rules, you would be moaning and groaning in there right now."

She waved her arm toward my room, and I felt my face burn up. Honestly, it had taken every ounce of restraint I had not to toss my rulebook out earlier in the night, and go for Rosalie's less reserved approach. But at the same time, I wasn't ready for that. I barely knew Edward, although that was changing, slowly.

"True," I muttered.

"Do what feels right."

"Yeah," I mumbled. I knew I'd break down tomorrow and call him. Just thinking about him made my fingers twitch, and I was thankful that I'd left my phone in the kitchen.

"All right, I'm off to bed. You feeling okay tonight?" she asked, rising slowly from the couch. She gave me a look that said, _don't bullshit me_.

"I'm feeling okay."

"Just okay?"

"I'm tired. I'll let you know in the morning."

"Mmhm," she said, eyeing me skeptically. "I'll be up early to bug you. G'nite."

I leaned back into the couch, and closed my eyes for just a second. I just needed a few minutes to find the energy to walk to my room, to prepare myself for another long day in residency. It wasn't long before I drifted off to sleep, thinking of Edward Cullen, wondering how long it would be before I could see him again.

***

I woke up in an unfamiliar place, which was bright and noisy and alarmingly unfamiliar. I couldn't make out faces or details, because my vision was blurred, and the voices in my head were distant and chaotic, as though I were listening to twenty radio stations at once. I realized I must be dreaming, because it felt like one of those dreams where you can't focus, you can't see or move or feel anything, but you want to because you feel so disconnected from your body.

So I tried to focus; I tried narrow my vision, to concentrate on one voice, one face. But it took so much fucking effort, and I was so tired, that I let myself drift off again, into a different kind of place, which was quiet and familiar.

_"So what do you think, Bells?"_

_I looked at my father's face, his rugged, stern features and jet black hair. His voice was clipped, to the point, because Charlie never said an extra word when he could avoid it._

_"I don't know, Charlie…"_

_I recognized the interior of his squad car, impeccably clean and smelling faintly of musk and fresh pine. My father had driven this car for years around town, but it always looked brand new._

_"You'd like it here. Not a whole lot to do, I guess, but you'd make friends."_

_I hadn't been to Forks in fifteen years, the day my mom moved out and took me with her. I was too young to remember this cold, rainy town, and the little house that Charlie still lived in. It was pitiful, in some ways, to see him here, frozen in time, as though he believed at any minute Renee would come back. Instead I was here, miserable and alone, trying to salvage my relationship with my father._

_"What would we do, Charlie? I don't even know you."_

_He winced at the harsh, naked truth in my words. I was bitter about Renee's decision to follow Phil; I felt like an inconvenience, a tiny blip on my parents' radar that needed to be dealt with. I didn't feel like obliging either one of them._

_"I don't know, Bells. I've got a nice flat-screen, and—"_

_"I don't watch television."_

_He inhaled deeply, navigating the car through the pouring, blinding rain. We sat in silence for what felt like hours, and I felt my defiance crumble into pity—for me, for Charlie, for the existence of a seventeen-year-old who felt like she didn't belong anywhere._

_"I want to go home," I whispered._

The next time I woke up, or dreamed—I wasn't sure which—the room was bathed in a still, sterile silence. The walls were white, illuminated by a bright, industrial light, which reminded me of the exam rooms at the General I knew so well. I still couldn't focus, which made it impossible for me to know exactly where I was, but it felt familiar in some way. And the silence was eerie, kind of bizarre, like it didn't fit with the setting of the room. I tried to say something, but all I heard was a low moan in my throat.

"Bella?"

The sound of my name thundered in my ears, and I turned toward it. But it wasn't the call of my name that made me turn, that made my heart race in my chest and my breath quicken; it was the voice. It was Edward's voice—frantic, desperate, and unlike anything I had ever heard before.

"Bella? Bella, can you hear me?"

I struggled to say something, to move or blink my eyes or reach out to him in a way that would get through to him. This was a seriously fucked up dream, and I wasn't used to feeling so powerless, even in my own mind. I felt crushed by my own body weight, suffocated by the air in my lungs.

_Don't go_, I wanted to say. _Please don't go_.

And then I felt his warm, strong hand on mine, and it was like a shock to my system. My blood rushed through my veins and I watched the haze clear from my vision, just slightly, but enough to realize that this wasn't a dream, and Edward was sitting beside me, pleading with me to wake up. I felt elated and horrified and confused all at once, as the reality of the situation came crashing down on me.

I was in the hospital. Not my hospital, but Edward's. And he was here with me, his voice laced with concern, desperate and urgent. It wasn't like him to sound like this—so emotional, so broken. I realized then that something was horribly wrong.

"Edward?" I whispered, and it was such a breathy sound that even I could barely hear it. But he tightened his grip on my hand and moved closer to me, speaking more intimately now.

"I'm here, Bella," he said, and his voice nearly cracked. "Rosalie is here, too."

"Bella, it's Rose," she managed. Her voice sounded dry and raspy, as though she had been crying for days.

"What happened?" I croaked.

"You didn't wake up, Bella," she said in a soft, tiny voice, and I could discern the outline of her tall, slender figure beside Edward. "You just didn't wake up."

"Bella, you had a stroke," Edward said, summoning his unwavering, assertive voice. The voice of a physician, who knew his medicine inside and out, who saved lives because that's what he was trained to do. I felt better, somehow, just hearing that voice.

A _stroke_? People died from strokes. I felt panic rise in my throat like bile.

"How?" I managed. "Why?"

"We don't know yet," he said, and I heard the door open and close, which muffled Rosalie's sobs as she stepped out of the room. She probably didn't want me to worry, but it was far too late for that.

"Please, Edward. Just tell me."

He sighed, and let out a long, unsteady breath. My hand was still in his, grounding me in reality, keeping me on the brink of consciousness.

"We did all the tests…MRI, CAT scan, chest x-ray, CBC, ABG, electrolytes. We did it all, Bella. It's been three days, but we still don't know—"

"Three days?!" I exclaimed, but it came out like a breathy gasp.

"It's not surprising given the magnitude of the stroke," he said. "I'm trying, Bella…I'm doing everything I can…"

"I know," I whispered.

"I've consulted with surgeons, oncologists, rheumatologists, neurologists…all at the top of their fields. I'm not trying to be your personal hero, Bella. I just want someone to get to the bottom of this—it doesn't matter who it is."

"I trust you, Edward."

"I don't know that I can do this," he said, his voice quavering now, cracking under the pressure of something larger than he was.

"You can."

"I can't distance myself, Bella. I can't be objective. I'm…I'm invested now."

His face, his beautiful, familiar face, was slowly coming into focus, and I felt my chest tighten at the sight of him, so distraught and vulnerable. I almost didn't recognize him sitting there, his eyes on our hands, intertwined on the white sheets.

"Don't give up on me," I whispered, trying with every ounce of strength I had to squeeze his hand. "Please."

"Never," he said, and he finally he turned toward me, his eyes an intense, fiery emerald. "I would never give up on you."

***

By the next day, I could speak somewhat normally again, although my words came out slowly, deliberately. My vision was still blurry, but improving gradually. I finally convinced Rosalie to go home, get some sleep, and go to work. She had found a job at a bookstore of all things, and I didn't want her to lose that on account of me. She fought me, of course, but I finally convinced her that I wanted some time alone with Edward. I knew exactly which buttons to push when it came to Rosalie.

Edward stayed with me through the night, and left only to consult with other physicians, check in with the pathologist, or deliberate on new tests. I told him—begged him—not to neglect his other patients, but he always answered with a gruff, "I'm the boss here, Bella. I can do whatever I want, and I'm staying here with you." And that was that.

Of course I was miserable sitting in this hospital bed, relying on other people to take care of me, struggling to speak and still unable to move very well. My right side was stiff, and I was just thankful that I wasn't paralyzed. Given the size of the clot and the length of the coma, everyone was downright shocked at my incredible recovery. But aside from all that, the root of my problems still eluded everyone, which didn't bode well for me.

"Hey, Bella. Can I come in?"

I looked up to see Alice in her scrubs and white coat, smiling brightly at the door. I waved her in, relieved to see her smiling face. I knew that Edward trusted Alice completely, and I could see why.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. She sat in the chair by the bed, and I was pleased to see that we took the same bedside approach to our patients.

"Not the greatest," I answered honestly. "But better than yesterday."

"You look better," she said.

"I'm just…I don't know, Alice. I'm so angry. Is that wrong?"

"No," she said, her voice warm and reassuring. "Why would it be?"

I turned toward the window, annoyed by the tears in my eyes. I wasn't used to being in the bed; I was used to standing beside it, telling my patients that I was there to make them better.

"I hate feeling sorry for myself," I said, almost in a whisper. "I see so many patients, so many sick kids who don't have parents, who die before their lives even have a chance to begin…and they suffer so much. But they never complain. It's like they can accept what's happening to them, and I can't."

I sighed deeply, thinking of my patients at the General, the little ones who never cried or screamed or complained, even when we came in bearing big needles and drugs that made them sick. I thought of Sam, who threw up every time he saw the chemotherapy suite, who was spending the best years of his life in a hospital bed. If I had half the strength they had, I wouldn't be feeling like such a failure.

"They're children, Bella. Children only see the here and now—it's easier for them. I know that's not much of a comfort, but you _are_ strong. Don't beat yourself up about this."

"I'm afraid," I admitted, trying hard to control the shakiness in my voice. "I'm so afraid."

"If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it's Edward," she said in her calm, determined voice. "He's brilliant, Bella. And he cares about you."

"I know," I mumbled, because I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve any of this.

"Alice, don't tell him I said anything—"

"I won't," she said, reading the concern in my eyes. "But you should talk to him."

"He puts so much pressure on himself. I don't understand why."

"You don't?" she asked, genuinely confounded.

"Well, no," I admitted. "I really barely know him at all."

"Few people do," she mused. "He looks at you differently, Bella. He doesn't see you as his patient, although he's trying to, this time."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for one thing, I think he's falling hard for you."

I felt myself blush, the warm, familiar heat rising in my cheeks. I wasn't sure if I was embarrassed, or exhilarated, or just completely in denial. But I wanted it to be true. I wondered if it ever could be true.

"I don't think so," I said, but my voice betrayed me.

"Well, I'm just the observer," she said with a soft, knowing smile. "But as his chief resident, I can tell you he's softened up quite a bit since you came into his life."

I smiled at Alice's revelation, which was probably true given Edward Cullen's infamous reputation. Parts of it were true, I decided, but the walls he had so carefully constructed were crumbling slowly. And if I had something to do with it, I didn't quite understand why. I was missing a piece—a very large piece—of this puzzle. And I had a feeling it had to do with his mother, whom he had mentioned at dinner in the past tense with a sad, wistful smile.

"Thanks, Alice," I said, my mood brightening. "Just make sure he doesn't work too hard."

"I can pretty much guarantee you that he will," she teased.

She was right, I knew. Edward wouldn't give up until he figured out what was wrong with me. Even if it was too late.

***

One week and a thousand tests later, Edward came bearing my discharge papers. He had a disgruntled, concerned look on his face, and I knew what he was going to say before he even spoke.

"I'm not happy about discharging you," he said.

"I know."

"I do _not_ like the idea of you walking out of here without a diagnosis."

"You're managing my symptoms," I argued. "I feel better than I have in months."

"It's a temporary fix, Bella," he countered. "Without a diagnosis, I can't cure you. I can only treat you. That isn't good enough."

"Maybe I don't need a diagnosis."

"You always need a diagnosis."

I exhaled sharply, glaring at his dazzling green eyes. His hair was a tousled mess of bronze, which contrasted beautifully with his crisp, elegant suit. I couldn't believe it had been almost two weeks since that night at the General, the night I lured him into an exam room and used my stethoscope to seduce him. My nerves hummed at the memory, and I wondered if he saw me differently now. I wondered if we had reverted to our doctor-patient relationship, where it would remain.

I decided I couldn't deal with that.

"I'll follow up with you every week," I said, gathering the last of my things from the room. "For as long as it takes."

"Every week?" he asked.

"Yes. Like clockwork."

"Hmm," he mused, and a small smile formed on his lips. "When?"

"Um…" I said, pretending to think about it. I already had an elaborate plan in my head. There wasn't much else to do when you were sitting in a hospital bed for a week.

"Maybe…8 pm on Wednesdays?"

"That's fairly late for an appointment, don't you think?" he asked, but the little smirk on his face gave him away.

"Well, I mean, if that doesn't work for you…"

"It works for me," he said, his voice smooth as velvet. "Although be prepared to set aside several hours for these appointments."

"That shouldn't be a problem. I can set aside the whole night if you like."

He smiled crookedly, which made me thankful that I was no longer hooked up to that damn heart-rate monitor. If Edward had had any doubts before about my physical attraction to him, this last week had completely cleared that up.

"Good," he said. "That may be necessary."

I picked my bag up off the bed and walked slowly toward him, watching him closely as his eyes widened in anticipation. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, my blood pulsing through my veins. As I closed the distance between us, I could hear his breathing, low and ragged and sexy as all hell.

I stood on my toes and leaned into his ear, whispering against the perfect strands of bronze that framed his face.

"I'll see you Wednesday," I murmured, brushing his skin with my lips.

"I'm pushing it up," he said huskily into my hair, breathing deeply. "I can't wait that long."

***

**A/N:** Slightly longer note here, because I have some medical things going on...

Bella had a stroke in her sleep, which is what Rosalie meant by her not waking up. Strokes often cause problems with speech and paralysis, but if you're young, you usually recover quickly and completely. I'm trying to convey here that this was the case for Bella, who is feeling perfectly fine by the time she leaves the hospital. Her symptoms are clear-cut, but tests aren't always reliable. I'll return to this later...

I'm not big on dream sequences, but I was trying to introduce a Forks connection (this is a Twilight fanfic, right?). I'm keeping it vague for now, but it will come up later. I did try to draw some parallels between Bella's dream and Edward's conversation with Carlisle (that was the goal, anyway!).

If anything I write is medically inaccurate, I apologize! I'm not pretending to be a doctor - I'm just a lowly med student who is being tested on chronic diarrhea next week (I decided not to incorporate that area of my expertise into this story...).

Thank you as always for reading! You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that people are enjoying this story. :)


	16. Zebras

**A/N: **Well, strangely, I met an attending and his two residents at a bar this weekend - so, yeah, that was weird. The guy did _not_ look like Edward, unfortunately.

Tamarov vodka is what a storekeeper gave me when I told him I wanted to buy the cheapest liquor in his store. So...yeah. Don't ever buy it.

The title for this chapter comes from a saying I learned on my first day in med school: "When you hear hoofbeats in Central Park, don't go looking for zebras..." (ie. The obvious diagnosis is usually the right one.)

Thank you for reading and reviewing - your comments are a huge help to me!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Twilight.

***

**Chapter 16: Zebras  
**

**EPOV**

I protested when Bella left. She knew it was coming, and I knew she wouldn't listen, but I did it anyway. Medicine was not an exact science—I certainly had more than a few patients who left here without answers, no matter how many tests we ran. Sometimes it took months—years, even—to make a diagnosis. But the prognosis was never good for those patients, because sometimes, those answers came too late.

Which is why I protested, vehemently, when Bella walked out those doors and back into her daily routine. As her physician, I had contacted her attending at the General, laying the ground rules for her return to work. If I had my way, Bella wouldn't be returning to work at all until I figured out what the hell was going on, but of course she shot down that idea completely. She missed her patients, her work, her life. And I couldn't deny her that.

I had tried to treat Bella like any other patient, but it was impossible. Any doctor struggled with a young person coming in here with a stroke, which didn't happen often, but when it did, it reminded you of the fragility of the human body, of how suddenly and completely it could fail you. Bella had recovered incredibly quickly, but her brain was like a ticking time bomb that I couldn't disarm. I couldn't do anything because I didn't have a fucking diagnosis.

But Bella wasn't just any patient, and I was a fool to try to convince myself otherwise. I wanted to cure her because she was my patient and I was her doctor, and that's what doctors did. But there was a hell of a lot more to it than that—I wanted to help her, because I thought of her and missed her and wanted her, all of her. I couldn't live with myself if this thing, whatever it was, ravaged her body and her mind while I looked on helplessly.

She had left an hour ago, and I was still sitting at my desk, thumbing through her chart and the countless tests we had run. I couldn't do every test—the damn insurance companies wouldn't pay for that—and I couldn't help but think that I had missed something. Of course I had to think of the patient, too; I couldn't put Bella through all these painful, invasive procedures for no good reason. I knew she would have agreed to any test I ordered, but I couldn't do that to her. She had clearly been through enough.

"Excuse me, Edward, I'm sorry to interrupt."

I looked up to see Alice in the doorway, her expression tentative. She knew what to expect when I was sitting at my desk like this, my head buried in stacks of papers and textbooks, my face set in stern concentration. She was probably shocked I even heard her.

"Come in, Alice. What is it?"

"The mayor is here, and his wife is about to deliver. He wants to speak with you."

"Does he know I don't deliver babies?" I asked, suppressing a groan. The mayor was a decent guy, but if he had his way, I would be his own personal physician taking house calls at his pad in Pacific Heights.

"I gently informed him of that," she assured me with a small smile.

"I'll stop by when the kid's out." I was not a fan of delivery rooms, because I wasn't particularly fond of babies in general.

"I'll let him know," she said. She paused, letting the silence hang heavily in the air, and I waited for her to speak. Alice was treading in unfamiliar waters whenever she broached the subject of my personal life, and it clearly made her nervous.

"Are you working on Bella's case?" she asked finally.

"Yes," I grumbled, shaking my head in frustration. I could barely see over the piles of medical textbooks and journal articles. There were a thousand diseases that fit Bella's symptoms, but her negative tests made it impossible to differentiate between them.

"How's it going?" she asked.

I waved her over, and she took a seat in the chair across from mine. I could see the concern etched on her face; I could see how much she wanted to contribute, if in any way she could.

"It's frustrating as hell," I admitted, tossing the chart to the side so that I could meet Alice's worried, empathetic gaze. "I don't even know where to start because all the tests were negative."

"You know what they say about hoofbeats in Central Park…"

"Those fucking zebras," I groaned, because as trite as that med school mantra was, it usually held true.

"Any possibilities?"

"Joint aches and fatigue could be a million different things. The stroke is the anomaly that's throwing me off. That and her tests."

"You said her initial labs showed anemia?"

"Yes, but that's fairly common, especially in women."

"How about the high CPK?"

"Could be any number of things. Could just be muscle wasting from all that running she does."

"You must have a list of differentials," she said, gesturing towards the notes on my desk.

"I thought I knew what it was when she first presented, but the labs are contradicting me."

"Run them again," she suggested.

"I did. I ran them all three times."

"How about cancer?"

"There is zero family history, and the symptoms don't fit. Her CBC's are normal, and the CT scans didn't show any masses. Not cancer."

"An infection? Did she travel anywhere recently?"

"No, although she's at risk just working at the General. But her white cell count is normal, and this doesn't look like an infection to me. I sure as fuck hope not, because I put her on prednisone."

"You think it's autoimmune?"

"I have my theories."

"What about the antibody and complement panel?"

"All normal. I'm choosing to ignore that."

"Trust a human over a machine?"

"Always," I said, and a small, knowing smile appeared on her face. The "experts" kept telling us how frequently doctors screw up; according to them, robots should be doing all the work. I had read the papers, seen the studies, knew the research, but I also understood people. I worked with them, I listened to them, and I knew how much every patient despised machines. I liked to think that in this way, at least, I was superior to a robot.

"You'll figure it out, Edward," she said, with such conviction that I almost believed her.

"Maybe," I said. "Unless I'm too late."

"You're a gifted physician, Edward. Don't start thinking like that just because it's someone you care about."

I flinched at her words, which rang with Alice's dead-on insight. How could I possibly be objective if even Alice could see that I treated Bella differently?

Analyzing my reaction, Alice stood up, flattened the creases in her skirt, and walked slowly toward the door. She turned around to face me once more, her face set in its usual expression of genuine concern, empathy, and determination.

"You need a break," she said, and my first instinct was to protest. But then I realized that, as usual, Alice was right. I needed to get out of this office, out of this hospital, so I could clear my head and recharge my thought process.

"Maybe," I muttered.

"Jasper and I are getting drinks after work. Come with us," she said, eyeing me with such intensity that I had a feeling she would not be taking no for an answer.

"You know how I feel about being the third wheel," I commented. Her fair skin blushed a bright pink, and she glanced nervously at her feet.

"We're not—" she stammered.

"It's fine, Alice. It's none of my business. Plus you know how I feel about Jasper."

"I do?" She raised an eyebrow, clearly interested in my response.

"If I ended up in the ER for some reason, I'd want you there first."

She smiled, although her face flushed a deeper red.

"And Jasper second," I finished. "I trust you."

"Not an attending?" she asked, and I couldn't tell if she was teasing me or being serious.

"Hell no," I said. "I don't trust anyone who spends most of his time in a cushy clinic, tending to patients who pay with fat checks. I much prefer my residents who don't know any better."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, a teasing smile on her face. "I'll be sure to have a resident perform your next colonoscopy."

"That's taking it too far," I smirked. For the thousandth time since Alice had started here, I wanted to thank her for lightening the mood.

"So can you meet us at The Little Shamrock at 7?" she asked.

"Jeezus, Alice, that place is such a dive."

"That's why Jasper loves it," she admitted with a groan.

"All right," I said, and I couldn't help but smile at the pleased look on Alice's face. "I'll go."

***

At precisely 6:58, Emmett strolled into my office looking bored. I knew that look well, and I knew what it usually meant for the rest of my evening.

"Happy hour?" he suggested.

"Pretty sure we missed happy hour, Emmett."

"Really?" He looked at his watch, and his face fell. "Dammit."

"I can't go anyway, but thanks for the invite."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Drinking with residents," I mumbled.

"You are?" He looked at me skeptically, clearly surprised by this recent development in my social life.

"Yup," I said, throwing on my coat.

"Can I join?"

I raised an eyebrow, wondering if I had heard him right. I didn't know the full details of Emmett's social activities—honestly, I really didn't want to know, especially since our last escapade to North Beach—but I knew he didn't do dive bars. Then again, he could join me as an extra wheel.

"Sure," I said with a shrug.

***

We found Japser and Alice sitting at the bar, listening to the bartender vent about "girly drinks" and the "pansies" who ordered them. I had a feeling Alice would have preferred a Malibu Seabreeze or Sex on the Beach over the Scotch and Soda she had in front of her, but she seemed to be enjoying the discussion. Jasper apparently came from some obscure southern state, and he was expressing his opinion on the finer details of good whiskey.

"Hey Edward!" Alice said cheerfully when she saw us walk in. She did a double-take at Emmett, who smiled politely. I had to admit that this dynamic was slightly bizarre on multiple levels.

"Hey," I said, taking a seat beside them. "You guys know Emmett?"

"Of course," Jasper said, as he hailed the bartender over our way. It was a Monday night, and the place was dead. Just the four of us and Tommy, sitting at the decrepit bar and talking about booze.

"Hope you don't mind me crashing the social hour," Emmett said.

"Glad you guys could make it." Jasper took a swig of his Scotch on the rocks, or whatever the hell it was, and watched Alice cringe with distaste as she took a tiny sip of her cocktail.

"What's the occasion?" Emmett asked.

"Edward needed a break," Alice volunteered, still grimacing. "He's been working hard lately."

"Still working on Bella's case, eh?"

I nearly choked on my drink, wondering how the hell news traveled so fast in this place. I had barely spoken to Emmett since that memorable night in North Beach, aside from the usual consults and department meetings.

"Uh…" I stammered.

"Sorry, man…I…uh…I heard about it through Rosalie."

"Rosalie?" My throat burned from that damn whiskey, and my voice didn't sound right.

"Yeah, you know, Bella's friend…"

"I know who she is," I said, although I was still confused. Emmett had never dated anyone for longer than two weeks, as far as I knew. This was a shocking development.

"She's cool," Emmett said.

"I see."

"Emmett, you know Rosalie and Bella?" Alice interjected, and I was oddly comforted by the similar look of confusion on her face.

"Well, yeah. Edward saved Bella from a strip club—"

"Jeezus, Emmett. I did not _save_ her from anything."

"According to Rosalie, you did," he argued.

A sudden realization dawned on Jasper and Alice's faces, as though a few missing details of my connection with Bella finally made sense. I felt like I was on display; where the hell was the bartender?

"Well, speaking of Bella, did she go home today?" Alice asked, turning toward me.

"Yes," I said, downing the rest of my motor oil. I always drank shitty booze in a dive bar; it was one of my rules. I had to admit that this particular rule did not have any logical basis, but for some reason, it just felt like the right way to do things.

"You should invite her out next time," Alice continued, and I watched her surreptitiously dilute her drink with a glass of water.

"She's at the hospital tonight," I said wearily, although I had contemplated calling her all day.

"So she leaves one hospital and goes straight to the next?" Jasper asked, his voice gently teasing. "That's hardcore."

"She misses her patients," Alice explained, taking the heat off me. "I can understand that."

"I think the six of us should go out," Jasper suddenly announced. But I had a feeling that he and Alice had discussed this at length, for reasons I couldn't completely comprehend. I definitely felt out of the loop somehow; even Emmett seemed to be in on this.

"Bella and I aren't really…we're not…" I tried to protest weakly, but Alice was giving me a look that said, 'Don't even try that bullshit on me.'

"Sounds good to me," Emmett said in his loud, authoritative voice. It was a voice that few people could argue with, unless you knew what you were doing. But I had a feeling I wouldn't get very far if I attempted to object.

"Well, now that that's settled," Jasper said, eyeing me with a devilish glint in his eye, "I think Edward should, you know, loosen up a bit."

"Loosen up?" I looked at him quizzically, although I could tell by the setting and Tommy's eager eyes that Jasper had a certain thing in mind.

"We're at a bar. A shitty bar, actually. What else are we going to do?" Jasper had a point there, but if I drank any more Tamarov vodka, I would pay the consequences tomorrow.

"I'm pretty loose," I protested.

"Oh come on, Edward," Emmett sneered. "Even Alice here can drink you under the table."

"I feel like you people think that a few shots of cheap liquor will get me to open up. I hate to disappoint you, but I'm a silent, brooding drunk," I explained.

"That's not what Emmett says," Jasper said.

"Emmett doesn't even remember medical school," I retorted, because that was probably true. He had spent all of his time pursuing "outside interests," namely the nursing students.

"Uh, yeah I do. I remember that one time you—"

"Okay, I think they get it, Emmett."

"I want to hear about it," Alice said. I rolled my eyes. Of course she did. Let's all get the dirt on Edward Cullen.

"Let's just do some shots," I grumbled, before Emmett could unload his arsenal of med school stories.

Tommy's face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, and I knew this could potentially be a very long night.

***

Two hours later, I had won the drinking contest. Unfortunately. And I was in rare, brooding form.

Jasper and Emmett were playing a drunken game of darts, while Alice was sipping on a fruity pink drink. Even Tommy had finally succumbed to Alice's charm; he concocted the girliest, fruitiest liquid sugar I had ever tasted. I couldn't detect the slightest bit of alcohol in there, which was clearly the point.

"You don't like darts?" she asked. I glanced over to see Emmett nail the bathroom door, about two feet off target.

"Not with Emmett," I said dryly.

"How about pool?"

I looked over at the empty pool table, its surface scuffed with chalk and drunken encounters with a cue stick. I hadn't played in years, although I used to, before medicine consumed my life.

"It's a step up," I said. I definitely was a silent, contemplative drunk. But I couldn't complain—for the first time in weeks, I wasn't thinking about all the horrible ways Bella could succumb to something I couldn't diagnose. I didn't think about her illness at all, in fact; I just thought of her, missed her. Decided that tonight would be a thousand times better if she were here now, grilling me about my distaste for babies and the world of pediatrics.

"You should call her," Alice said, shaking me from my distant, mind-addled reverie. The vodka flowed thickly in my veins, clouding my judgment. But I felt so fucking liberated without that damn filter there to censor my thoughts, which I used to keep everyone at a very safe, very obvious distance. It was a dangerous but exhilarating realization, one that could potentially come back to haunt me.

"I just saw her this morning," I reminded her.

"And that matters because…?"

"I can wait until her next appointment."

"Sure you can," she smirked, rolling her eyes. "You can't fool me, Edward. You wish she was here now, giving you a hard time for your low tolerance."

"I do not have low tolerance," I protested weakly.

"I've had more than you," she argued.

"There's no alcohol in those things, Alice. Just sugar. It's like drinking a donut."

"Right. Have you tried that?"

"No, but I had a patient who suggested it. Said the IV wasn't satisfying."

She chuckled at that, no doubt thinking about her own crazy patient stories. I had a ton of them—sometimes I felt like the crazies sought me out.

"So you and Jasper?" I asked, although I already knew the answer to that. I felt a pang of envy at the thought that she was healthy, he was healthy, and there were no life-and-death issues involved.

"Mmhm," she said, nodding with a bright smile on her face. "He makes me happy."

"I'm sure you do the same," I remarked, because that was true. Alice was happier than I had ever seen her, if that was even possible. And despite Jasper's disarming bluntness and relentlessly outgoing nature, I liked him. I approved.

"I have a question," I said after a pause to sip my drink, which tasted like water at this point.

"Let's hear it."

"What would you do if Jasper were dying?"

Her face darkened with pity, pain—I couldn't tell which. She waited a few seconds, letting the silence hang heavily in the air.

"Bella isn't dying," she said softly.

"She is, Alice. She's dying, and I can't do a fucking thing about it."

Alice conceded the argument, or at least she didn't protest. She leaned back in her chair and finished off the last of her pink concoction, taking a long, slow swallow while her brow creased in thought.

"If it were Jasper, I'd send him to you," she said finally, her dark eyes blazing.

"Horrible idea," I muttered, although Alice chose to ignore that comment.

"And if I were his doctor, I'd do everything I could. And if at some point I realized I couldn't possibly do anything else, I would accept that."

"Accept what, Alice? Death? How is that even an option?"

"I don't think it will ever come to that, Edward. I truly don't."

"I can't do this," I whispered, feeling the alcohol buzzing in my brain, laying bare every emotion, every thought, every fear that I refused to acknowledge.

"You can," she said, resting her tiny hand on my arm, which was cold from the icy drink she'd been holding all night.

"No, Alice. I can't. I won't."

"You can't give up on her, Edward."

"I'm not giving up. I just…I can't be her doctor."

"Why not? You're the most capable doctor in this city. In this state, even."

"I can't be her doctor if I want to be something else…if I am something else. At some point, you have to choose."

"You don't have a choice."

"I've lost patients before. I can handle losing patients. Bella is different…she isn't my patient."

I inhaled sharply, pushed my drink toward the bar and stood up. I needed to breathe, to feel the cold air, to walk the two miles home and wake up to some kind of solution that would save Bella's life.

I looked at Alice, whose eyes glistened with pain and confusion. I wanted to explain, to apologize, to tell her I was drunk and that I didn't mean any of it. But that was a lie, and she could see right through me.

But I didn't get the chance to tell her the truth, to admit I was damaged and afraid and too fucked up by the memory of my dead mother, whose face I remembered as though I had seen her only yesterday. I didn't get a chance because of the soft, familiar voice that came from behind us, asking the question that was no doubt burning on Alice's lips.

"If I'm not your patient, then what am I?"

***

**To be continued of course! **

**Thanks for reading!! :)  
**


	17. Vertically Challenged

**A/N: **So I scrapped a crucial aspect of this chapter at the last minute, because it didn't feel right (yet). My roommate came in and asked why I wasn't studying for our test, to which I said, "I just wrote 8 pages of smut, and I feel like my head is going to explode." (In the best way possible, of course!) Unfortunately, I had to cut the all-out graphic lemon for this chapter, but it will reappear later. Soon, I promise!

Also, after consulting with my creative inspiration (her name is Mom, and she will not be reading this story, for obvious reasons), I've mapped out the rest of the story. There are some major plot twists/things to come (no more medical catastrophes for Bella in the near future), so enjoy the quasi-lemony goodness while it lasts! (PS Mom, if you stumble upon this story somehow, I decided not to give Edward Ebola as you suggested.)

Thank you so much for reading! And please review because it seriously makes my day and keeps me on track! Thanks everyone!!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Twilight or Edward Cullen goddammit.

***

**Chapter 17: Vertically Challenged  
**

**BPOV**

The words came out before I had the chance to think about it, because I only heard Edward's last few words and my mind was reeling. Rosalie had dragged me out here after she convinced me that I needed to see something other than the inside of a hospital, and I had reluctantly agreed. Of course she had left out some important details, namely the fact that she was coming here to meet Emmett, and she probably knew that Edward would be here, too.

After a few seconds of silence, I felt the familiar flush of embarrassment and regret rise in my cheeks. I suddenly wished I hadn't said anything at all—wished I hadn't come here, wished Rosalie hadn't made me feel like such a fool for coming here. Panic flooded through me and I felt the urge to run.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, and bumped awkwardly into Rosalie as I turned around and headed for the door.

I managed to get one step out the door before I felt Edward's strong grip on my arm, pulling me gently toward him.

"Bella, wait," he said, but his voice was low, different somehow. Resigned even.

"I'm sorry," I said again, because I didn't know what else to say.

"You remember what I told you about apologizing."

The heaviness in his voice was still there, mingling with his gently teasing tone, betraying the shadow of a smile on his lips. He spoke more slowly, more deliberately, and I knew that Edward had been at the bar for quite some time. I could tell he was struggling to keep his façade securely in place.

"I remember," I whispered.

"I'm the one who should be apologizing."

"Why?" I demanded, but the words had barely escaped my lips before he drew me toward him in a soft, breathless kiss that brought me back to that night in the exam room, the night that everything changed. And how I had spent two nightmarish weeks thinking that Edward would ever see me the same way again.

"I should have done that hours ago," he murmured.

"Me too," I sighed, managing a small smile. "I know you're my doctor but—"

"Not tonight," he said, in a hushed, but firm tone.

He hadn't conceded an argument, or changed the subject, but somehow he had shifted the mood completely. I couldn't read the look in his eyes, or the tone of his voice, but my heart was racing in expectation, as though the blood in my veins was one step ahead of my mind.

"We met tonight," he said, and I watched as he failed to suppress a teasing smile. "At this shitty bar, of all places. Apparently we both have a thing for dive bars."

I knew he was joking, but he sounded disarmingly sincere. As though he wished it were true, or at least could be true, if we had met under different circumstances.

"Actually, I just have a thing for Tommy," I said, trying to sound casual. But my breaths were coming too quickly for me to sound even remotely indifferent. I couldn't stop thinking about how we spent too much time thinking and not enough time…doing other things.

"I thought so," he said, but his tone hadn't changed. His eyes burned into mine, sending a delicious chill down the length of my spine.

"I'm lying," I murmured.

"I know."

"Let's take a walk," I said. "I want to show you something."

***

The walk from The Little Shamrock to the top of Buena Vista Park was just over a mile, but the hill was torturously steep. After two weeks in a hospital bed, I wanted to walk the full mile, but Edward could see me faltering as we reached the foot of the hill.

"Get on," he said, and I rolled my eyes.

"You can't piggyback me up this hill, Edward."

"You don't have a choice in the matter," he said, knowing I would succumb to his crooked smile.

"If you trip—"

"I won't drop you, Bella. Don't you trust me?"

I nodded, although the double meaning in his words didn't escape me. But before I could think about it, he bent over and hoisted me up over his hips, settling me against him. I wrapped my arms around him and rested my head on his shoulder, savoring the feel of his body moving under mine as he walked. It was easy to forget how tall Edward was, despite my valiant attempts to add a few inches with heels. He dangled them from his hands as he climbed the hill, and I felt like a girl in high school, forcing my strapping boyfriend to cater to my every whim. But Edward seemed to be enjoying himself.

He walked the last five blocks at the same pace we had walked the first seven, stopping every block or so to ask if I was okay. I felt my nerves building as we reached the top of the hill, wondering what Edward would think of my tiny apartment, and if it would somehow change his view of me. I pictured his sprawling house on the edge of a hillside park, impeccably furnished and lavishly decorated. Of course I had no idea what his place looked like, but I couldn't shake that image from my mind.

"I hope that wasn't too traumatizing," I said, as I slid off his back onto the sidewalk.

"The only potential victim of trauma here is you," he said, his tone gently teasing.

"You have a very comfortable…back," I said, blushing in spite of myself. Sometimes I wondered what Rosalie would say if she heard some of the things I came up with.

But he just smiled, and said nothing as he brushed the wind-swept hair from my face, and tucked it neatly behind my ear.

"I should go," he said softly, as though he didn't want to say it at all.

"Don't," I said, finding the strength in my voice that had faltered during these recent weeks. I couldn't make demands from a hospital bed; I couldn't do anything at all. And even though I had wanted him there with me instead of all the nurses and doctors I didn't know, I could never ask that of him. I encouraged him to see his other patients, to forget about me, to conduct his practice as he always did. I commanded him to do so, because other people needed him more than I did.

But tonight was different. I wasn't at a hospital, surrounded by other people, competing with them for his attention.

It was just the two of us. And I wanted him to stay.

"I know you don't want to go," I said, surprised by my own boldness. But I could see it in his eyes, his touch, the way his voice betrayed him. "And I really do have something to show you."

"Hmm," he mused. "I don't know…my back is so sore, I don't know if I can make it up those stairs—"

"Really?" I must have had a truly horrified look on my face, because his expression softened immediately into an amused grin.

"Do your patients fool you this easily?" he teased.

I felt my cheeks flush, as expected, and his grin widened.

"No," I mumbled, but I was trying hard not to laugh. I took his hand and he followed me up the steps to my apartment, the first of four flights to the top floor. I was ridiculously nervous, which he probably noticed when I dropped the key trying to open the door. He didn't say anything—just picked it up and handed it to me, holding my hand in his for a second longer than was necessary. I felt hot all of a sudden, not uncomfortable or embarrassed, just…something else. Like waking up on the beach after a long, glorious day in the sun.

I walked inside and flipped on the light, and led him over to a small door in the kitchen. There was a narrow stairwell there, which opened up to the roof that overlooked the city. He said nothing as I walked up the stairs and opened the rusty door, bringing us out into a clear, moonlit night.

"I know you're probably used to nice views, but…well…" I trailed off, slightly unsettled by his silence. I was fighting the urge to fill the silence with meaningless chatter about the weather, which I usually did when I was nervous.

"It's beautiful, Bella," he murmured, although he wasn't looking at the view. He was looking at me, his emerald eyes glistening in the yellow moon. "Definitely worth the back pains."

He smiled crookedly as the wind whipped around us, and the sounds of traffic echoed below us. I trembled in the breeze, and Edward pulled me closer to him, leaning down so that I could hear his steady breathing in my ear, above the noises of the city and the restless blowing of the wind.

"I'm afraid," I whispered, warmed by the slow ministrations of his fingers on my back. His body tensed, just slightly, but he said nothing.

"Every night," I continued, my voice shaking, "I'm afraid I'll go to sleep and I won't wake up."

He pulled back abruptly, cradling my face in his hands, his eyes blazing. He had the most beautiful, distinctive face, with his brilliant green eyes that spoke to the depths of his intelligence and mystique. I wondered if, even after a lifetime, I would come to know Edward Cullen any better than I knew him now. I wondered what it would take to earn his trust, even as I revealed to him this one fear that crippled my daily existence.

"I'll do whatever it takes, Bella," he said in a firm, unwavering voice that I recognized from the first moment I met him, as the world-renowned doctor who cured incurable patients. "I promise you."

I could feel my emotions bubbling in my chest, ravaging my composure that I had maintained for two weeks. But instead of feeling fear, or dread, or anger at everything that had happened, I felt completely safe. I felt, for the first time in weeks, that I would wake up tomorrow and my life would play out exactly as I had always hoped it would.

"I know."

And because I was tired of talking, and because I had said the only two words that mattered—two words I should have said hours ago—I stood on my bare toes and kissed him softly, savoring the taste of his lips on mine, feeling the electric touch of his skin surge through me. He deepened the kiss hungrily, taking my bottom lip in his, as I clutched his coat in my hands to pull myself up. He left me gasping when he broke the kiss, gracing my jaw line with soft, wet kisses, breathing raggedly in my ear.

"Would you like your shoes back?" he teased, and my skin tingled at the huskiness in his voice.

"You're too tall," I whined.

"Well, there are ways to rectify that…"

I smirked at him and walked toward the stairs, leaving him there with an amused grin on his face. He followed me slowly down the stairs into the kitchen, and while it took every ounce of my resolve to keep me from looking back, I managed to maintain my focus until I reached my bedroom door. He was just a step behind me, so close that I could feel the heat of his body warming my bare skin. I took a deep, shaky breath and turned around slowly, while every nerve in my body hummed with anticipation.

"Bella—" he said, but I silenced him with a sweet, languorous kiss, as I opened the door and pulled him into the small, dark room that overlooked the lights of downtown. I removed his jacket, letting it fall softly to the floor as I backed up toward the bed. When I felt the mattress against the back of my legs, I stopped, and I looked up to see Edward's eyes simmering with desire. I felt my face flush with a delicious, feverish heat that traveled through my veins to my core, electrifying my senses. I ran my hands through his hair to the base of his neck, and with a small, knowing smile, I kissed him roughly, because he could handle it. And judging by the rock-hard bulge in his pants, he wanted it, too.

He responded with the same urgency, the same desire that coursed through my blood like a live wire. I leaned back slightly and he followed, and soon I was lying on the bed beneath him. I could feel him fighting against himself, maintaining his carefully constructed self-control as he hovered above me, kissing my jaw, my neck, the curves of my collarbone. But of course I could also feel how aroused he was, and I arched my hips into him, whimpering at the feel of his erection grinding against me.

His breathing was coming in quick, ragged gasps, and I could see him struggling with himself in some kind of internal battle. He kissed me again, long and slow and deep, but then he pulled away with a reluctant smile on his face, his he caressed the curve of my jaw and the sensitive skin of my neck.

"I think we rectified the vertical challenge," he said, as I struggled to catch my breath so I could actually say something.

"I agree," I breathed. "But why…but why did you stop?"

"I want you to ease into your recovery. As your doctor, that's my recommendation." His voice was tinged with humor, but I could tell by the look on face that he meant it.

"Ease into it?" I raised an eyebrow, which must have contrasted oddly with the pouty look on my face.

"This is a potentially strenuous activity."

"That depends," I said, fighting to suppress a smile. This time his eyes widened, followed by a crooked, amused grin that spread on his face.

"When it happens, Bella, I will _not_ be taking it easy on you. I hope you understand that."

His tone was resolute, but the teasing smirk on his face gave him away. I was still disappointed, still angry at myself for being weak and sick and fragile, but Edward was right. And we had time—didn't we?

How much time did I really have? I felt my chest tighten at that thought, realizing that any one of these nights could be my last. That even though the last stroke hadn't killed me, the next one might.

"What's wrong?" he asked, reading the change in my expression. I shook my head, hoping to clear my mind of these fears that had come to consume my life.

"I just worry sometimes, Edward. I worry that I'm running out of time."

"I made a promise to you, Bella," he said, his eyes blazing with a deep, dark intensity.

"But I don't want you to worry about me. I don't want you to sacrifice your work, and your patients, and even your life for me. I'm not worth it, Edward."

"I'll decide what's worthwhile," he said, and he spoke with such finality, and such resolve, that I couldn't even think of arguing.

"I don't want you to treat me any differently," I pressed, surprised by the stark honesty in my words.

"I do treat you differently." He paused, inhaling deeply before he continued. "I've treated you differently since the day we met."

"Why?"

"Because I care about you," he said in a low, serious tone, his expression tortured by the emotions warring on the surface.

"I care about you, too," I said. "Too much for my own good."

"Well, good." His tone was lighter when he spoke, and his lips turned up into a small smile. "I could use a good pediatrician."

"I'm all yours," I said, as Edward rolled onto his back and pulled me with him.

"Good," he murmured, sweeping a few loose strands of hair from my face. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

***

**Thanks for reading!!**

**Can you tell where I cut it? ;) Please review!  
**


	18. Rosacea

**A/N**: I'm sorry for the delay! That exam turned out to be a beast, and I had to buckle down for once. Thanks for your patience!

I think you'll see some parallels to Twilight in this chapter, towards the end...well, parallels to all vampire stories, really (and please, don't think for even a second I would throw vampires into this story - that is NOT going to happen. Ever.).

Rosacea is, very generally, overactive blushing.

Again, thank you all for reviewing. I love hearing from you!!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Twilight.

***

**Chapter 18: Rosacea  
**

**EPOV**

I didn't leave Bella the next morning until she convinced me she wouldn't go to work. It wasn't easy; I nearly backed down every time she gave me this pouty look that could have kept me there indefinitely. And yes, I knew I was turning into a softie, but I didn't really care.

By some miracle of restraint, I eventually managed to win the argument, and I left her lying in bed, her face gently illuminated by the first rays of dawn. I would have stayed all day, if she had let me. But Bella always thought of the people who needed me more than she did. She always thought of patients first—not just hers, but mine, too.

So in the early morning light, I walked down the hill and thought of last night, of seeing Bella in that bar like she was some kind of alcohol-induced dream. And when I realized it wasn't a dream, I just stopped giving a fuck about everything else. I just wanted to be with her. That was all.

I knew Emmett and the rest of them would give me shit for my abrupt departure last night, but I didn't care. Alice, at least, knew my stance of silence on personal matters, but I almost wished she would ask. In some ways, she seemed to know things about me that even I didn't know. Hell, she had probably orchestrated that whole encounter last night. If so, I might cave and actually thank her for once.

I made it to my office in twenty minutes, showered and changed quickly and confronted the chaos of another day. It was just after 7 when Alice walked in, a bright smile on her face as always.

"Good morning, Alice," I said, while she took a seat across from me.

"Good morning," she said cheerily.

"Oh, before you start—I just want to apologize for leaving suddenly last night. I should have at least let you know I was going home."

"It's okay," she said, and I wondered if she would push the subject. "I figured as much."

"Good." I was relieved, but then again, I hadn't expected Alice to pry. She was genuinely interested in the goings-on of people's lives, but not nosy. There was a difference. "Please continue then."

"I just wanted to make sure that we're still on for the clinical skills presentation at the medical school today."

"That's this afternoon?" I asked. I vaguely remembered a commitment I had made to the med school, but I had no idea what the hell it was I had committed to.

"Yes," she said, glancing down at her phone. "It's at 1 pm."

"Do I need to bring something?"

"No…well, maybe your stethoscope."

"This will be interesting," I grumbled. It always was when it came to clueless med students fumbling around, poking and prodding at people's bodies.

She smiled politely and continued to talk about various patients, updating me on status changes, discharges, new admits, and other things. It was beginning to sound like a very long day.

"Is that all?" I asked, when she finished and looked up.

"Well, one more thing," she said, as she placed a thick folder on my desk. "I printed these out for you."

"What's this?" I was genuinely confused, even more so when I opened the folder. There must have been 50 journal articles inside, covering a range of obscure topics.

"Jasper and I did some research this weekend…on Bella's case. We found some articles we thought might interest you."

"Oh," I said, because honestly, I had no idea what the fuck to say. This must have taken them hours.

"It really wasn't that much trouble—" she stammered.

"This is very helpful, Alice."

She nodded and stood up, while I thumbed through the thick stack of papers.

"And Alice?" I said, without looking up. I knew she was almost out the door, but I could hear her turn around to face me.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Thank you," I said, managing a small, but genuine smile. "I appreciate it."

"Anytime," she said softly.

"I'll see you at 1 pm. Now go make yourself useful."

She smiled and flitted out the door, leaving me with a few minutes of peace before the day began. I sighed and opened the folder, feeling oddly comforted by the fact that even though I didn't yet have the answer, it was probably in there somewhere.

***

After lunch, I was already scrambling to keep things under some kind of control in this place, when I remembered my unfortunate obligation over at the med school. Shit, I was late. Alice was probably already there, priming them for my bad mood.

I found the classroom and was greeted by a room of eight eager med students, and Alice, who was sitting on the table in the front of the room, demonstrating basic exam skills. She smiled with relief when I came in, clearly relieved that she didn't have to pick a student to practice on. I could see some of the male students practically drooling at that prospect.

"Okay, everyone. I think we can start. I'm Alice Brandon, a senior resident here, and this is Edward Cullen, my attending."

I scanned the terrified faces, and I thought briefly about smiling comfortingly. I decided against it—Alice was smiling enough for the both of us.

"We're going to demonstrate the basics of the physical exam, which you'll be using in your third year on the wards. It's important to remember that you can't hear anything with your stethoscope through clothing, so be sure to have your patients change into a gown."

Alice glanced at me, and I tensed. Is this seriously what I had volunteered for? Stripping down in front of med students? I had to stifle a loud, irritated groan.

This day had just gotten impossibly longer.

***

As the sun set over the Pacific, casting an orange glow on my office, I felt my pager vibrate. Ugh. No one ever paged me unless someone was dying. I did not feel like dealing with a dying individual at the moment.

But it wasn't a hospital number. It was Bella, and her text message blinked on the screen.

_I neglected to make my next appointment. What is your availability?_

A hot current pulsed through my veins, and while I had a feeling she was teasing me, I couldn't be sure. So I played the ambiguous card.

_I think I could accommodate you. Any preference for day or time?_

I waited a few seconds for her response. I pictured her sitting in her apartment, or in a café, reading a book or something more technical, watching the world go by outside her window. And I wondered if she had thought of me suddenly, for some reason I would never know, or if she had been thinking of me all day. I liked the thought of that.

_I think sooner is better than later._

Bella being coy. I could do coy. I liked coy.

_How soon?_

_Tonight?_

I waited a few seconds, just to torture her a bit. I could picture her smirking in annoyance.

_An office visit? Or a house call?_

_A house call. You will be well compensated for your trouble, I promise._

Well, I sure as hell wasn't going to say no to that.

***

It was the first of many house calls, which made me think of ways to make the days go faster, knowing I would see Bella at the end of the day. When I finally got out of the hospital, even in the middle of the night, Bella was usually lounging in the kitchen, cooking something fantastic. She finally had the time to do it, she explained, and while she cooked, she always begged to hear about my day even though they all sounded pretty much the same. But Bella didn't care; her whole face lit up when I talked about my patients, and she asked about every one of them. If I had ever doubted how much she loved medicine, or missed it, I realized now how much of a part of her it really was.

And I could see, more and more clearly as the weeks passed, how much it was killing her to be missing the work she loved. And it was killing me to see the defeat in her eyes, as though she had lost the love of her life. I would have done anything to give it back to her, if only I had some fucking answers. If only I were a better doctor, maybe.

I knew Bella was afraid, but never talked about it after that first night. I spent every night with her unless I was on call, in which case she sometimes walked with me to the hospital, or spent a few hours reading in the cafeteria. It wasn't that she was afraid to sleep, she said, just that she didn't want to. And if I was a part of that, a reason for that, or just some kind of presence that offered her comfort, then I would do anything to grant her that. At the moment, much to my growing frustration, it was all I could offer her.

But of course I was selfish, too. I wanted to see Bella. I loved coming home to her, at the end of the day, when all I could think about was the way she smiled when I walked in, her eyes dancing with anticipation. I thought of the years I spent coming home to an empty apartment, savoring the solitude, losing myself in music or books or work. And I wondered how I ever, in all those years, ever found that remotely satisfying. And somehow I had changed so quickly, and so dramatically, as though those years never existed at all.

It had been two months since that first night I walked Bella home, her first night home from the hospital. Tonight was much the same—cool, breezy, with a fine mist rolling over the city streets. It was almost 8 on a Saturday night, and everyone but Jasper had gone home. He was standing in the halls when I saw him, leaning against the window with his notes in hand.

"G'night, Jasper," I said, as I walked by him on my way out the door.

"Oh, Edward. Hold up a second."

I paused in the halls, anxious to escape those doors and see Bella, especially tonight. Tomorrow was her last day on sick leave, and I had something planned for the occasion. And of course, as predicted, I was already late.

"Any plans for the evening?" he asked.

"Oh, um…yes, actually," I admitted. I never talked about Bella to Jasper or Alice, at least not in anything other than medical terms. And they never asked, although I wasn't immune to the gossip in this place.

"Oh," he said, and his face fell infinitesimally. "I just figured…you know, since it was late…"

"Are you off tomorrow?" I asked, because he suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"Yeah, actually. I don't get out much with this schedule, so…yeah."

I knew Alice was out of town for the week, and I thought briefly of recommending Emmett to take my place as his wing man. But Emmett was a whole other complicated story, which had a lot to do with my encounters with him and Rosalie…

"Well, Bella is going back to work on Monday, so if you'd like to join us for drinks after her first day back..."

"Oh, really? I mean, that's okay, I don't want to impose—"

"I'd like someone to relieve me of my third wheel duties, Jasper. Just come."

"Okay," he said, chuckling. "I'll see if I can live up to your reputation."

"Don't push it," I smirked.

***

Twenty minutes later I was at the top of Bella's huge hill, and she was sitting on her front steps, smiling shyly. I looked at her with a crooked grin, because holy hell, she looked fucking amazing sitting there in the moonlight, cocking her head at me like the irresistible tease she was.

"Hey," she said breathlessly, placing her book on the sidewalk beside her.

"Hey," I replied, taking her hand in mine as she stood up.

"Are you prepared for impending doom?" I asked. Her smile widened, and already my heart was thundering loudly in my chest. But I could hear hers, too, so I felt a little better.

"Is this usually an apocalyptic event for you?" she teased.

"Yes," I said, trying hard to keep a straight face. "Yes it is."

"Well, in that case, I'm glad I get to spend my last few hours with you."

She smiled but it was tinged with sadness, for reasons I could understand but didn't want to think about. I wondered if Bella's fears had abated at all, especially since she had gone a month without any symptoms, but I could never find the right opportunity to bring it up. I didn't want to force a subject that clearly made her uncomfortable.

"Shall we?" I asked, changing the subject. She linked her arm with mine and we walked up the three flights of stairs to her small, cozy apartment, which smelled faintly of freesia and herbs. It reminded me of Bella, and although it was subtle, it was alluring as hell.

"Do you want me to help?" she asked, taking a seat at her little kitchen table.

"No, that would be cheating." I gave her a little smirk, which made her blush. Jeezus, her damn hyperactive blood vessles got me every time.

"Okay, then I'll just…watch and admire from afar.

"I didn't say _that_," I said, and her eyes widened just a bit. "I don't want you too far."

"Then where do you want me?" she asked, a sly smile on her face.

"Here for now," I murmured, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her. Her blush deepened, and I inhaled sharply as she leaned back against the counter, gripping my shirt with her tiny hands so that she could pull me closer.

I couldn't stand like this for long without wanting more, but Bella knew that by now. It wasn't easy resisting her, telling her that there was no reason to push things physically, especially given her recent medical events. But I wasn't the only one about to combust from all the sexual tension; moments like this were bad enough—sleeping next to her was on an entirely different level.

She teased me for another few seconds, enjoying my reaction to her slow, tantalizing seduction. I finally caved and kissed her gently, but she responded with an urgency I hadn't really experienced with Bella before, not since that very first night in that exam room. The sheer desire in the way she moved her mouth against mine made every nerve in my body hum in response, and I didn't have time to exercise my usual restraint; I had my hands tangled in her hair, my body arched into hers. I was suddenly hard as a fucking rock, and she whimpered when I took her by the hips and started gently riding her through her clothes.

I forgot everything else and just gave in to the feel of her soft, delicate body against mine, pulsing with the blood that was racing through her veins. I could feel her little heart beating furiously in her chest; I could hear her breathing coming in quick gasps as I struggled to process the situation through a thick cloud of lust. I pushed away all of my usual hesitance and restraint and control, and just indulged. I thanked the gods above that Bella was wearing a skirt for once, so I could feel her so hot and fucking wet, because I wasn't the only one feeling sexually frustrated.

"Edward," she gasped, and she leaned her head back to grant me full access to her jaw, her neck, the smooth skin above her chest. The top three buttons on her linen blouse were undone, and I took that as a signal to undo the rest. I opened her shirt and continued my trail of kisses down her chest, before I unclasped the cotton white bra and tossed it across the room. It hit the window with a soft thud, but I was already too distracted to notice. Bella was standing there with her shirt open, braless, a breathless smile on her face; it was sexy as fuck, and I knew exactly where this was going. I was quickly approaching the point of no return.

I cared, but I didn't care. I didn't want to care. I wanted Bella right here on this fucking table, and I couldn't deny her if she wanted it too…

But I could, if I really put my mind to it. I could stop this, as I had done before, because I didn't trust Bella in some ways—I knew she wouldn't tell me if she was in pain, or tired, or not feeling well. And it was the thought of hurting her that always made me stop.

So I tried pulling away, slowly at first, but it was enough for her to notice. Her eyes met mine, hard and deep and intense, and her face was flushed a rich, succulent red.

"I'm okay, Edward," she said breathlessly, but her tone was firm. "I won't break."

"You wouldn't tell me even if you could," I argued.

"I would never keep that from you," she said, as she ran her smooth fingers along the length of my face and neck, bringing them to rest on my chest.

"I feel like you would," I said, and my voice was so ridiculously husky that I wondered how she could possibly take me seriously.

"I've only kept one thing from you, Edward," she whispered. "And it's the same thing you've kept from me."

***

**It's a big thing (not a symptom, but could impact Edward's diagnosis, among other things...that's all I can say).  
**

**Thank you for reading!  
**


	19. Autosomal Dominant

**A/N**: I feel like this is an important chapter, and it was hard to write in a lot of ways. But hopefully it turned out okay!

If you see a connection to a House storyline in this chapter, it wasn't intentional. In any case, the similarities to that particular storyline will end very soon, so...yeah (if you don't watch House, don't worry about it!). :)

I would love to hear from more of you - please, please review! I can handle criticism, too! Or a joke or random comment is also welcome.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Twilight, but when I bought GQ today, the woman at the bookstore commented on the hot man on the cover. We bonded.

***

**Chapter 19: Autosomal Dominant  
**

**BPOV**

I was staring at the floor, trying to catch my breath, waiting for Edward to say something. I couldn't believe I had actually gotten the words out—of course I had thought about this for weeks, months even, but I always found a reason to put it off, or just say nothing at all. I didn't know how Edward would react, but I knew exactly what he would say. And I didn't want to hear it.

"Are you going to tell me, Bella?" he asked finally, shattering the stillness of the air.

"Yes," I whispered, wondering why now—of all times—I had opened my mouth. Edward's hands were roaming along the small of my back, and he was hard against my hips, but I had to say this. I had to get this out before we took this any further, because everything was resting on the truth.

I took a deep breath, and slowly drew up my eyes to meet his. Deep concern colored his face, and for the thousandth time, I hated watching Edward worry about me. I hated that he had to worry about me at all.

"Edward," I began, fighting the slight tremor in my voice. "I want you to tell me about your mother."

I heard the air catch in his throat in a silent, wordless hiss, as though I had knocked the wind out of him.

"What does this have to do with you?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

"Everything."

He sighed, took a step back, and ran his hand nervously through his mussed bronze hair. He shook his head slowly, as if deliberating with himself.

"Don't you trust me?" I asked, because sometimes I wasn't sure that he did. In so many ways, Edward was still a complete mystery to me.

"Of course I do," he said. His tone was firm, doctorlike. If he was going to tell me something personal, he was going to do it in the most impersonal way possible.

"Then tell me."

"It's nothing earth-shattering, Bella. I'm a cliché, unfortunately."

"You're anything but that, Edward."

He chuckled dryly, and it was a harsh, bitter sound. I waited, because I wanted him to tell me first, before I ruined everything with my own confession.

"My father is a small-town doctor where I grew up. He married my mother right out of high school, in that same small town, and after college and medical school, he decided to practice there. Carlisle was a good man, but very old-school about things. He didn't tolerate laziness."

He paused to take a long, slow sip from his wine glass, which he set back down with a gentle clink on the table. I kept my eyes fixed on his, willing him to continue.

"Esme, on the other hand, loved life. She loved people, loved everything, didn't give a shit if you made your living weaving baskets on the street. Esme was a gifted musician, and I would sit with her for hours at the piano, while my father clicked his tongue at the idea of my becoming a professional pianist. And that was the plan, I suppose, for a long time. Esme never failed to encourage me, or compliment me, or tell me I made Mozart sound like a broken radiator. She was just that way."

"It sounds like you were close," I said, wanting to reach out and touch him, to hug him close to me and tell him that he didn't have to say anything else, that I shouldn't have asked. But I had to know; I had to know, because I wanted Edward—all of him—not just the part that everyone else saw.

"I guess you could say that," he said, downing the rest of his wine. "When I was a senior in high school, something changed. She wasn't the same."

He looked down at the floor, and his voice dropped. He continued slowly, deliberately, as though the story were about someone else.

"Carlisle noticed it, of course. He was a doctor, and he noticed the slurs in her speech, the forgetfulness, the way she walked like an old woman. He took her to the best doctors in the state, who ran every test imaginable. Esme never complained; she suffered horribly, but she wanted to live. Two months after her symptoms started, she looked like death. And a month after that, she told me she was done. Finished. No more tests, no more doctors. And while everyone else told her it was okay to let go, I told her she was a fucking coward for giving up."

I cringed at the bitter regret in his words, the way he spoke as though the whole ordeal was his fault, as if he himself had failed her. His voice was trembling now, his eyes a dark, searing emerald when he looked up.

"She was never diagnosed. She just suffered horribly and then died, and that was it. Carlisle moved on eventually, but I guess I didn't. I went into medicine to prove a point, Bella. I did it for Esme, to prove to her that she didn't suffer for nothing. In some strange way, it's almost like those patients that I cured would have died if Esme hadn't. And it's not a fair trade, but it makes sense to me."

"She would be proud of you, Edward. You've saved so many."

"I've lost some, too."

"Sometimes it isn't about the cure. It's about the process."

"I don't approach medicine the way you do, Bella. If someone dies, I failed."

"Patients don't always see it that way," I argued.

"No," he sighed. "You don't. Esme didn't. But I do."

"That's an impossible standard to live up to."

"Only if you care about your patients. Otherwise, failure in medicine is like failure in anything else. When it happens, you move on."

"You care about your patients."

"Not the same way you do," he said again.

"That's what you think, Edward. That's what you believe, because it makes it easier for you. But you aren't an empty, emotionless shell of a physician—you would do anything for your patients—"

"I would do anything for _you_, Bella!" He exhaled deeply, shaking his head in some kind of defeat. I looked down, struck by his frustrated tone, reeling from the defiance in his voice.

"Not just me," I argued, refusing to back down.

"What do you want me to say?" he demanded.

"Do I remind you of what happened to your mother? Is that why you treat me differently?"

"I treat you differently because I'm in love with you," he said, and his words pulsed through me like a deep, slow burn. He said it simply, almost apologetically, as though he had known this all along, and he didn't know, and didn't care, if I felt the same way.

"Don't feel sorry for me," I whispered.

"I don't," he said, regaining his steady, stoic voice. "Now you know my sad story. Does it clear things up for you?"

I couldn't tell if it was defeat, or anger, or just flat emotion in his voice when he spoke; I was still reeling from his confession, and there were a million things I wanted to say. But I couldn't handle seeing Edward angry, or resentful, if that was even how he felt. Inexplicably, I felt my eyes sting with moisture, and I felt like running into my room so I could break down in private.

So instead I just nodded my head slowly, keeping my eyes fixed on the ground. I could feel tears brimming in my eyes, which made me want to scream with frustration—was I seriously this hopelessly emotional?

"Bella, are you…are you okay?"

"Mmhm," I nodded again.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and his flat tone was suddenly infused with pain and alarm, as he wrapped his arms around me and stroked my hair.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, fighting the tremors in my voice.

"For what?" he asked incredulously.

"You're angry."

"Jeezus, Bella, is that what you think? How could I possibly be angry with you?"

"Because I made you tell me something that you didn't want to talk about—"

"I'm glad you asked me. I should have told you a long time ago."

I finally managed to look up, comforted by the kind, understanding look in his eyes. He grazed his fingers over my cheeks, which were embarrassingly wet with useless tears, and he smiled sadly.

"I have something to tell you, too," I said finally, savoring the soft strokes of his touch on my face, and his warm hands on my back. I cleared my throat and steadied my voice, and met his deep, questioning gaze.

"I also lost a parent," I said softly, my chest tightening on the last word.

His eyes widened, and he looked at me with a strange, puzzled look on his face.

"I thought, based on your family history—"

"I lied," I said, thinking back to that first day in the hospital, several months ago. Alice had taken my family history, and I had told her I didn't know who or where my father was. I had told her he abandoned us, leaving my mother to raise me on her own. And I never even considered telling her—or anyone—the truth. Until now.

"My father didn't abandon us," I said, wincing at the lies I had so carefully constructed. "He was a good, honest man, and he died four years ago, while I was in medical school."

"Why did you—"

"I'll get to that," I said, because I had to work myself up to it. It was so easy to lie about this—so much harder to tell the truth.

"I was born in Washington and moved to Arizona with my mother when I was two. I saw my dad on vacations in the summer, but I never visited him in Washington. I resented him for some reason, even though it was my mom who had left. As I got older, I dreaded those summers in California, when my father would come to see me. We had nothing in common, and I didn't want to make an effort."

I couldn't bear to look at his face; I had deceived Edward, for months, and he deserved better. But I had my reasons, and it taken every fiber of resolve I could muster for me to tell him the truth, to risk everything because Edward meant everything to me.

"When I was seventeen, and my mom decided to move to Florida with her new husband, my father begged me to come live with him. I even went up to see him, but I hated it. I hated the idea of being jostled between my parents, and even though my dad did everything he could to entice me to stay, I refused."

I cringed at the memory of my dad sitting in the front seat of his cruiser, silent and defeated on the ride back to the airport. I mumbled a good-bye when I got out of the car, but that was it. No 'I love you's,' no hugs or signs of affection—nothing. And that was the last time I saw him, until the funeral.

"It broke him," I whispered, swallowing hard to keep my emotions safely repressed. "He was never the same."

"I'm sorry, Bella," he said, but I didn't deserve it. If Edward had failed Esme, I had failed my own father. And what I had done was a thousand, a million times worse. But I hadn't even gotten to the worst of the story; I hadn't yet tested Edward, and I knew I could stop right here and forget all about it. He didn't have to know.

But he did.

"I found out later why he was so desperate to get to know me. Why after all those years, he suddenly wanted me in his life."

I paused, waiting for Edward's response, but he said nothing. He was waiting for me; he would wait all night.

"My father had Huntington's, Edward. He committed suicide when the first symptoms appeared."

*******

**A/N: **I just deleted the second half of this chapter, so I will post that soon (probably tonight). I was having mood-change issues - you'll see.

For those of you that don't know, Huntington's is an autosomal dominant disorder that is passed through families. If a parent has it, his/her offspring has a 50% chance of inheriting it. Most genetic disorders are recessive, which is one of the reasons Huntington's is so devastating. I've always been fascinated by this disease, and it's one of the few disorders out there that has such controversy surrounding its genetic testing, so it fits well here. But don't worry, I am not going to do things predictably...that would be lame. ;)

Thank you for reading!!! Please review! It makes my day!


	20. SARS

**A/N**: Here is the second half. Note the mood change. ;)

Also, I've come to realize about myself that the last line of the chapter is the most important one, and usually has some deeper meaning. So keep that in mind, I guess.

**Disclaimer: **Twilight is not mine.

***

**Chapter 20: SARS**

**BPOV**

I heard his sharp intake of breath, and his hands froze on my back. I looked up cautiously, hesitatingly, but his eyes were blazing, and his expression was set in a stern, hard line.

"Huntington's?" he asked. "Are you sure?"

I nodded, crumbling under his hard stare. "His mother had it. He was tested the week after I left him at the airport."

My voice broke on the last word, knowing exactly what my father had been thinking that day he went in for the test. He knew he had a 50% chance of inheriting the disease; like so many others, he never got tested because he knew that his entire life would be dictated by a positive test. But that week, he stopped caring.

Edward said nothing, but the question was throbbing in my ears. I waited for him to ask, because I knew he would.

"Have you been tested, Bella?"

"No," I whispered.

He sighed, long and deep and agonized. Of course it was a personal decision; of course he couldn't fault me for refusing the test. But the events of the past few months had changed all that.

"Did you ever think it could be related to everything else?" he asked, although he already knew the answer to that. So did I.

"I thought about it. But it doesn't matter, Edward. If it is Huntington's, then you can't do anything about it."

"That isn't necessarily true."

"It_ is_ true!"

The tears were streaming down my face now, not from sadness or defeat or helplessness, but rage. I was so fucking angry at this curse on my family that had been passed down each generation like an unrelenting infection. I had decided a long time ago to pretend that it didn't exist, to live my life without the specter of death hanging over me.

"I know the test is a personal decision, but I might approach your symptoms differently if I had all the information," he said in a calm, unwavering voice.

"I'm refusing the test, Edward. You have to forget I even mentioned this."

"Then why _did_ you mention it, Bella? Why would you reveal something that could potentially help me to treat you, then tell me to just forget it?"

"I don't know," I breathed. I tried to sidestep Edward but he grasped my arms, holding me in place, so close that I could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

"I can't…I won't do it, Edward."

"Bella, please. Please just think about it."

His words stuttered and stalled in his throat, his face contorted with such anguish and pain that I felt my resolve crumple into nothing. If I tested positive, I would probably lose him—not because I thought he might leave me, but because I couldn't put him through that. But if I tested negative, I wasn't sure that the outcome would be different. Either way, everything was going to change.

"You shouldn't have to deal with this," I whispered.

"Deal with what, Bella? I wouldn't give a shit if you had Ebola, okay? You're still Bella. I would still love you."

His hands had found their way into my hair, which tumbled messily onto my shoulders. He pushed a few strands behind my ear, his eyes penetrating the depths of my soul. I had spent months protecting Edward, trying in some ways to keep him at a distance, keeping my secrets hidden from him.

But it didn't matter now. It had never mattered. Edward didn't need protecting, or sugarcoating—he wanted the truth. But even now, even as he looked at me with such love and adoration and concern in his eyes, I couldn't do that to him. I couldn't tell him I loved him, even though every fiber of my being was screaming at me to say exactly that. As much as I loved him, needed him, wanted him, I couldn't tell him that just to have him watch me die.

Because I did love him. I loved this man so much that I couldn't put him through this. So I closed my eyes, and forced the words from my head. Not now. Not today. Maybe someday, when I was well again.

"Did you mean what you said about Ebola?" I asked, forcing a lightness to my tone, still struggling against the war of emotions going on in my head. His face broke into a small smile, and I felt some of the tension slip away.

"Yes," he said. "Or smallpox, or SARS, or even Mad Cow Disease."

"I think I may have SARS, actually."

"Oh really?" he said, quirking an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"Because I experience a lot of respiratory distress around you."

"You probably contracted it from me then," he smirked.

"I think I'm getting a flare-up right now," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper.

He inhaled a short, shaky breath that ended in a sly, crooked grin. I was indeed experiencing respiratory distress: my breath was coming in quick, frantic gasps, as his fingers traced the outline of my jaw, making my nerves tingle.

"How can we remedy this?" he asked in a low, husky whisper.

"Kissing helps," I breathed, as he grazed his lips against my cheek, pausing at the corner of my mouth. He was such a tease, and he enjoyed every second of it. And it was a wonderful, welcome distraction from all of the harsh truths of reality, which seemed so far away when Edward touched me like this.

"I said—"

"I heard you," he growled, as he crushed his lips to mine, silencing me. It was a deep, furious kiss that sent delicious chills down my spine in a rush of simmering lust. I felt liberated, somehow, as though everything I had been holding back suddenly came rushing forward in a flood of pent-up emotion and need. I lost myself in him so completely that I hardly noticed my blouse falling to the floor, while every nerve in my body prickled to life.

I stopped him momentarily to take off his shirt, which he tossed aside on our way to the bedroom. I sank down onto the bed, pulling him with me, and the feel of his chest against mine was so fucking good that I just wanted all the clothes gone. I went first for his belt, but he gently rebuked me. I could barely think straight through the cloud of lust in my head, much less say anything. But Edward could read the look in my eyes, the slight frown on my face, and he smiled teasingly.

"Be patient," he murmured, as he unbuttoned my jeans and slid them slowly off my legs, one at a time.

"I want you," I breathed, and I felt my body tremble at the shadowy touch of his fingers along my bare skin, from the rise of my shoulders to the curve of my hips. I inhaled sharply as his mouth followed his fingers, and the heat of his breath and his tongue made me shudder with anticipation. I was ridiculously hot and wet and I wondered if he noticed, because I wasn't sure how much longer I could take it.

"I wanted you," he said, pausing after each word as he descended lower and lower, "the first time I saw you."

He finally reached the skin where my hips ended and my legs began, and he began teasing the fabric there with his tongue. I was almost writhing now, arching my hips while he grasped my wrists gently, keeping me still. The thick haze of desire was seriously impairing my thought process, but his words didn't escape me.

"Edward—" I gasped, attempting to formulate a question.

"And," he said, removing the last of my clothing, meeting my eyes with an intense, hooded gaze, "when you woke up, and you told me what an asshole I was…well, I was helpless to resist you at that point."

He smiled and kissed me softly, and he didn't argue this time when I unbuckled his belt and removed his black slacks, followed soon after by his boxers. I was already completely breathless at this point, but the sight of Edward's sculpted shoulders and lean, impeccable chest left me lightheaded. But he didn't even seem to be aware of how beautiful he was, of how powerless I was to resist him. He treated every inch of my body with more adoration, and respect, and desire than I believed any man could be capable of. He made me feel, for the first time in a long time, that my body was something I should be really fucking proud of.

But then he hesitated, his face just inches from mine. His voice was husky but serious when he spoke.

"Are you sure you're okay, Bella? I don't want to—"

"I'm okay," I breathed, kissing him once more. "I'm more than okay."

He nodded slowly and descended down my neck, beneath my shoulders, to the slow rise of my breasts. I whimpered softly as he paid them the same careful, desirous attention he paid to the rest of my body, teasing them with his tongue as I grasped his back and let out a slow, desperate moan. He looked up and smiled devilishly, traveling even lower, teasing me just enough before he knew I would start protesting.

"I think you're having a physiological response to me, Bella," he murmured, his voice husky and raw.

"Mmhm," I mumbled. If only every physiological response could be this intense.

I took an unsteady breath, which abruptly ended when he swept my clit with his tongue, and I bucked my hips so hard that I thought he might stop. But he hardly seemed to notice as he grasped me gently, lowering me down to the bed again as he used his tongue to torture me. I could feel the tension building to a delicious, mind-numbing crescendo, which he prolonged by working me in all the right places, using his mouth, his fingers, his hot breath to bring me to the edge. With one hard, final thrust of his tongue, my whole body shuddered in release, which left me whimpering his name as I rode out each wave, still trembling minutes later.

"Still okay?" he asked, an edge of concern to his voice.

I smiled drowsily as I pulled him toward me.

"More than okay," I murmured.

"Good," he said, breaking into a relieved, crooked grin. He kissed my forehead, which was coated in a thin, salty sheen of sweat.

I coursed my hands down the slope of his back, across the meshwork of his finely toned muscles. I kissed him softly, first on his mouth, then his jaw, then nibbled his ear gently with my teeth, whispering into his hair.

"I want more," I said, and I heard a low growl in his throat as I took the length of him in my hand. "I want you."

I clenched my fist around his cock, which was massive and hard and pulsating in my hand. He was shockingly well-endowed, which made me blush for some reason, but Edward didn't seem to notice. He was clearly losing the control he had exercised all night, despite my every attempt to thwart him.

"Fuck," he muttered breathlessly, his emerald eyes burning with lust. "Bella, we can't—"

"Why?" I asked, my voice breathless and pleading.

"We can't risk it, pregnancy could trigger so many things..."

He was right of course, but I refused to give in so easily. I knew that he wanted me; I could see it in his scorching eyes, his low, husky voice. And I cursed myself for the thousandth time that we weren't a "normal" couple, that he couldn't make love to me the way I wanted him to. It anguished him to deny me—I could clearly see that—but I knew Edward would hold firm on this. His stance on medical issues was always unshakable.

"Fine," I said, enjoying the trembling of his body as I stroked him, slowly at first, teasing him on the brink of his desire."But there are other things I can do."

His eyes widened, and he exhaled in a long, sharp hiss. "Bella—"

"Don't even try to argue with me," I murmured, using every ounce of leverage I had to maneuver him onto his back.

He opened his mouth to say something, but it came out in a wordless rush of air as I took him into my mouth, so fast and deep that I could feel his cock on the back of my throat. I had to adjust to the sheer size of him, but he hardly seemed to notice as I worked up to an intense, breathless rhythm. Instinctively, he arched his hips up off the bed, so that he was pumping into my mouth to match my pace. I could feel him getting close, could hear his breathing come in short, choppy gasps, and I teased him with the tip of my tongue, dangling him on the edge. I felt his hand on my shoulder as he tried to say something, tried to warn me, but I ignored him. I tried to take the length of him in one hard, swift movement, and his body shuddered as he came in a hot, pulsing rush. He finally relaxed as I swallowed every ounce of his release, which was thick and hot and definitely copious. I smiled when I finally looked up, his face set in a drowsy, satisfied grin.

He opened his mouth to say something, but I interrupted him before he could get the words out.

"I'm okay, Edward. I swear."

"I know," he said, eyeing me teasingly.

"You know?"

"I wasn't going to ask you if you were okay," he said, stroking my long brown hair with his fingers. I was lying on his chest, enjoying the slow rise and fall of his breathing, while he looked intensely into my eyes.

"Then what were you going to say?"

"I was going to tell you how _I_ was," he said simply.

"Is that so?" I asked, a teasing smile on my face. "Well in that case, how are you?"

"I'm okay," he said, trying hard to suppress a grin.

"Just okay?"

"No," he murmured, tracing my cheekbones with his fingers. "I'm with the most beautiful, most intelligent, most incredible woman I've ever known. I'm much more than okay."

I felt my cheeks flush, which brought a smile to Edward's face. I shook my head in defeat.

"Did I embarrass you?" he asked, his tone gently teasing.

"No," I said, a sheepish grin on my face. "This is how I react to flattery."

"In that case, I'll flatter you more often."

I smiled and rolled my eyes, resting my head on his chest, enjoying the soft caress of his fingers. After just a few minutes, his hands fell still on my back, and I could tell by the steady cadence of his breathing that he was asleep. I was just on the brink of unconscious, blissfully removed from reality, wondering what dream could possibly be better than this. Our earlier conversation seemed like a distant, intangible memory, aside from the only confession that really mattered, the only words I should have said.

"I love you, Edward," I whispered. "I love you too much."

***

**A/N: **That was not the lemon...I changed it last-minute. No real sexy-time yet. Sorry! :)

Pregnancy can trigger a shitload of things - in med school, I have learned that the two worst things for your body are 1) smoking and 2) little buns in the oven. And birth control pills put you at risk for blot clots, which is a no-no for people with a history of stroke, and condoms aren't perfect, so...no sex for Bella, unfortunately.

Note that Edward was asleep at the end, meaning unconscious, meaning he can't hear anything.

**Please review! Thank you so much for reading!**


	21. Outcomes

**A/N**: I realized in the last chapter that some people may not be familiar with Huntington's - wikipedia is a good place to go for information. Basically, though, it's probably the most devastating disease you could imagine, and it strikes people in their 40s (or earlier) and is always fatal. These days, people can be tested for it, but then they know that at some point in their lives, the symptoms will start appearing (and they are truly horrific symptoms - I won't outline them here, but basically it's a slow and painful process). A lot of people would rather just not know, so they can live their lives as normally as possible. There is no cure, but researchers are working hard to find one!

That said, I only write stories with happy endings. Just wanted to clear that up.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Twilight.

***

**Chapter 21: Outcomes  
**

**EPOV**

Sunday was Bella's last day at home, and I took a rare day off to spend it with her. I didn't want to leave the apartment; hell, I didn't want to leave the bed, but she wanted to show me her favorite corners of the city, the unknown spots that she loved. I knew this city, and I considered it my own, but it felt like an entirely different place in Bella's company. She brought it to life, in a way I had never experienced before.

We didn't talk about the previous night's conversation, although it lingered in the back of my mind. And hers, too, I guessed, but I couldn't press her. Not now, anyway. In the hospital, I had slightly more authority.

But at the same time, the test was her decision, not mine, and I wanted her to make that choice on her own. If she tested positive, it wouldn't change the way I felt about her, not in the least, but it would change everything else. I would lose her eventually, and it would be a slow, torturous process. But I pushed that image far out of my mind, deep into the recesses of all the other memories of suffering I had seen and experienced in my life. No one could handle the slow demise that Huntington's inflicted on its victims, but Bella would endure it with grace and dignity. But she would give up, eventually. And I would be left without her.

Even if that was the reality, of which I couldn't be sure without the test, we would still have years. Decades, even. By then, maybe, there would be a cure. I refused to look at this any other way; I had no choice, for Bella's sake. I couldn't make her feel like the outcome of one test would dictate the rest of her life.

It was late Sunday night when we got back to my apartment, slightly tipsy off a few glasses of wine at a neighborhood pub. I insisted on driving her in to work tomorrow, which she of course refused, but I made up some story about an oil change and she eventually gave in. She had been here many times before, but something always seemed to nag at her when she was here. And I didn't know if it had to do with her apartment, or Rosalie, or the feeling that she didn't belong. That, of course, was ridiculous.

"You have such a beautiful apartment, Edward," she said, stumbling gracefully on the doorframe. I never figured out how Bella turned clumsiness into something graceful, but she had mastered it.

"It's all right," I said, oblivious to the damn apartment when Bella was standing right in front of me, smiling shyly as she perched herself on one of the bar stools.

"But there is one thing that bothers me about it," she said.

I raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback by her words. She had a teasing, seductive glint in her eyes, but she let the silence hang there, waiting for me to break it.

"Is it the oven? Because I, for one, think it's broken…"

"It works fine for me," she said, a little smile on her face.

"Smart ass," I smirked. I set off the smoke-alarm every time I put so much as a potato in there; Bella, on the other hand, created masterpieces out of things like fennel and lamb. "Then what is it?"

"It's that thing in the corner that you never use," she said, keeping her eyes fixed on me, although I knew exactly what she was talking about.

"I use it," I protested.

"Not for me."

She was right, of course. I hadn't played the piano for Bella, although I knew it was the silent question on her lips every time she came here. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

"I don't play for people," I explained.

"Why not?" she asked, genuinely interested.

"Well, I don't know…music is just…intensely personal. If I played for you, you would know exactly what I was thinking."

"I'd like to know exactly what you're thinking," she said, and I didn't doubt that was true.

"I think it's usually fairly easy to guess."

"Please, Edward? So I can have something to think about while I'm slaving away on the wards tomorrow."

I shook my head, not in denial, but in defeat. How could I deny this woman anything?

"Just for a few minutes," I said, and her face brightened in a warm, excited smile. I sat down at the bench, warmed by the feel of her body next to mine, and let my fingers dance across the keys. The soft, smooth melody filled the room, and Bella leaned into me, her eyes fixed on my hands as I played.

I soon lost myself in it completely, feeling my emotions tumble out into the music in a careless, dramatic rush. If Bella noticed, as she probably did, I didn't stop because I didn't care; I wanted her to understand exactly how I felt, even though I could hear the concern and fear and uncertainty trickle into the notes. I played for an hour, before she rested her soft, tiny hand on mine, returning the stillness to the room.

"I'll get the test," she whispered, her voice barely rising above the low, enduring echo of the last few notes. I felt the air catch in my throat, as I registered the words.

"Bella, you don't have to—"

"I do, Edward. I want to."

"When?" I asked, stunned by the sheer resolve in her eyes.

"Soon," she said, leaning her head on my shoulder. "I promise."

***

Bella was in extremely good spirits when I pulled up to the General on Monday morning, and I forgot how much I liked her in those form-fitting black suits and cute white blouses. Her chestnut hair was tied loosely at the base of her neck, and her face was a flushed, radiant pink. I wanted to know who those lucky bastards were that got to work with her all day.

"You look so excited, I'm afraid you might never come out of there," I teased.

"I will if you come back for me," she said, while she checked one last time to make sure that her stethoscope was in her bag.

"That can be arranged."

"I'll call you at noon," she said, her lovely pools of brown searing into mine. "If I can hold out that long."

"Don't overdo it, Bella. Take it easy your first day back," I said, gently admonishing her.

"I will." She smiled and kissed me softly, before she bounded out of the car and through the doors to the General. I was happy for her—thrilled, really—but I was worried, too. I couldn't shake the feeling that life had been too good to us for the last three months; I thought, with a sinking feeling, that Bella was on borrowed time.

***

A month passed, and I was sitting in my office, writing performance reviews for various residents. I was working on Jasper's at the moment, which was oddly difficult to write. I knew Jasper far better than the other residents; after that night celebrating Bella's first day back, Bella insisted on hanging out with him more often. Alice, of course, loved that idea, and I had been seeing a lot more of them lately. But it was, in a lot of ways, something I should have started years ago. Alice was a kind, caring person, and she and Bella had become close. I should have seen that coming, based on the way they approached their patients, and the intensely personal way they practiced medicine.

I was lost in that thought, staring out the window when a gentle knock came at my door. It must have been Alice—the only person who ever really knocked at my office door. Most of the people in this place preferred to avoid face-to-face contact with the attendings, which was fine with me.

But it wasn't Alice, and my eyes widened as Bella walked in, wearing her suit and her impeccable white coat. She took it off, along with her stethoscope, and sat down across from me, placing her hands in her lap.

"Hi, Edward," she said, a small smile on her face. But it wasn't the one I was used to, the one that illuminated her whole face and brought a lovely blush to her cheeks. It was sad, almost businesslike.

"Hi," I said, giving her a puzzled look. "What brings you in today?"

"I'm here for the test," she said, glancing down at her hands. She was fidgeting nervously, anticipating my reaction.

"Oh," I said, genuinely surprised and slightly relieved. "You didn't have to come all the way over here for that."

"I wanted you to be with me," she said, the slightest tremor in her voice. She suddenly looked so small, so vulnerable, like a child in the principal's office, awaiting her fate.

"I'm here for you, Bella. You know that."

"I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time—"

"No," I said, with more sternness than I had intended. "It's never a bad time. Let's find an exam room, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed, following me to the door. I took her hands in mine before I opened it, sweeping the loose strands of hair from her face. It was the middle of the day, and physically she seemed fine, but emotionally she looked drained.

"Don't do this for me," I said, meeting her anxious gaze.

"I'm not," she said. "I'm doing this for the both of us."

I wasn't sure what to say to that, so I simply kissed her, telling her without words how brave I thought she was, how incredibly resilient. And telling her, too, that I loved her more than anything.

We walked down the hall to an empty exam room, and she rolled up her sleeve diligently so that I could draw her blood. It took less than a minute, and then I would send off the sample to the lab. By tomorrow, she would know.

"Thank you," she said, resituating the sleeves of her suit.

"Are you free for lunch?" I asked, glancing at the clock. It was 2 pm, somewhat late for lunch, but I didn't care. I didn't want her to go.

"Always," she said, smiling wider now.

My heart stuttered in my chest at the sight of her lovely, glowing face, and the way her eyes danced when she smiled like that. It was times like these when I couldn't tear my eyes away from her, when I could picture her ten, twenty, fifty years from now, smiling the same youthful, hopeful, beautiful smile.

And with a feeling of utter despair that left me choking for air, I wondered if, after tomorrow, I would ever see her smile the same way again.

***

**Thanks for reading! Please review - I get demoralized when people don't give me feedback, because I start thinking that I messed up and people hate it! If you hate it, tell me and I'll change something! **

**And for those who have reviewed, thank you so much - I love hearing from you! :)  
**


	22. Fevers and Chills

**A/N: **I'm sorry, I had to do this...(this chapter, I mean)

Also, this title has deep, deep meaning (okay, not really, but I tried).

According to tentative plans, this story will be 30 chapters long. But I'll probably slow down with the updating, because I'm in Vegas (long story) and I want to make sure it's good!

Thank you so much for the reviews!! I'm glad people think I'm doing a good job!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Twilight.

***

**Chapter 22: Fevers and Chills**

**BPOV**

It happened on a Monday, exactly one week after I returned to work. A nurse had paged me in the middle of the night, her voice in a high-pitched panic, asking me to come down and evaluate one of her patients. I was in the on-call room, trying to get at least a few hours of sleep, and I was not excited to hear from her. But I knew I would be responsible if anything went wrong.

I walked groggily down the halls to cramped exam room, where a ten-month old named Emma was howling from her crib. Her face was streaked with tears, and the young nurse was hovered over her, adjusting an IV line.

"Oh, Bella, I'm so sorry to bother you, but she's running a fever and I know she's post-op—"

"It's okay, Elise. You can page me anytime. What's her temperature?"

"39.8."

"Okay, we're going to have to remove some of the dressings. See if the site is infected, in which case we'll have to call the surgeon."

She nodded, and lifted the baby up, removing her tiny gown. First I examined her, listening to her furiously beating heart and the air in her lungs. She didn't look well, and my heart sank at the thought of paging the surgeon.

I removed the dressings slowly, gingerly, trying to ignore her racking sobs.

"It's okay, sweetheart," I said to her, placing my hand on her forehead. If only she could tell me what was hurting her so badly.

"Page surgery," I said, keeping my voice even while Elise looked on in horror.

I cringed at the incision site, which was filled with pus and thick, foul-smelling liquid. Elise was new, just like me, and she hadn't yet mastered the art of controlling panic. "And if no one responds, go up there and drag someone down here."

I placed new dressings on the infected wound, while Elise adjusted the pain medication flowing through the IV lines. My heart ached for this little girl, and I knew how terribly serious this could be.

"Yes, Doctor," she said, responding subconsciously to the change in my tone. And then her voice changed, just slightly, so much so that I hardly noticed it.

"Are you—are you all right?" she asked, and it was then that I realized my hands were shaking, as I lay the baby down.

"I'm fine," I said quickly, but I felt my mind flood with panic. My hands never shook—not from nerves, or fear, unlike some of the other young doctors. And this wasn't a nervous, mild shakiness; my hands were trembling uncontrollably, as though one part of my body was having a seizure.

"Are you sure—"

"Yes, damnit," I snapped, anger rising like fire in my throat. Elise looked stunned, and I had to look away, embarrassed by my outburst.

"I'm sorry, Elise," I said, my voice calm. "Please just go up to surgery."

She turned and walked hurriedly out the door, and I could hear her footsteps running down the hall. Angry tears stung my eyes as I looked at my tiny patient, willing her to get better, as if I could will the same thing for myself. But as her cries quieted, and her little body fell into a calm, tired stillness, my hands still shook in a maddening, crushing defiance of all I had ever asked for.

But maybe, I realized, this was a fair trade. Emma would recover, I hoped, and grow up to be something special, something only she could be. And in that way, I knew that my life—however short it might be—had meaning.

***

The tremors came and went over the next few weeks, and somehow I managed to hide them from anyone who might have noticed. Miraculously, it never happened around Edward, who would have taken me straight into the ER if he saw it. And it was this realization that made me rethink everything, as desperately as I tried to ignore it.

My mother didn't tell me about Charlie's condition until the day he died, and even then, she barely managed to tell me the truth. By then, as a medical student, I knew all about Huntington's disease, known in medical circles as one of the most haunting, grim diagnoses a doctor could give. It was a slow, humiliating, painful demise, that stole people's dignity and left them completely helpless. My father had taken his own life to avoid that fate.

I understood, later, why my mother had kept the truth from me for so many years. Huntington's followed you like a latent, lethal infection, festering in the deep corners of your brain, waiting for the right time to strike. I knew I had a 50% chance of inheriting it, but like most people, I anticipated the worst. The glass was always half-empty when it came to Huntington's Disease.

I knew what the tremors meant. I didn't need the test to confirm what I already knew, but I hadn't made this decision for me; I had made it for Edward. This was my only option, the only way I could live my own life in the shadow of death, without implicating anyone else. And even if Edward didn't understand now, he would someday.

I waited three weeks—long enough to convince myself that every other option had been exhausted, that this was the way it had to be done. When I left the General that Thursday afternoon, and climbed on the shuttle to UCSF, I finally felt the first fissures in my resolve. But I thought of myself in twenty years, of Edward by my side, telling me he loved me even though I wouldn't recognize him. And I had to do this, even if it killed me.

I could barely breathe by the time I knocked on Edward's door, praying he wouldn't be there. I could have come tomorrow, I told myself. Or next week. It didn't have to be today.

But it had to be today, because if I waited any longer, I wouldn't do it at all.

I heard his voice from behind the door, and I opened it slowly, just as I had the day before. He smiled when he saw me, but it was tentative, forced. He knew he had my fate resting in his hands, as though he were a judge, handing down my sentence. But he wasn't a judge—he was more like God, telling me if I was going to live or die. And I had never intended to find out what that decision was, but Edward didn't know that yet.

"Bella, come in," he said, gesturing to the chair in front of me. He was the doctor again, and I was his patient, but it made things easier this way.

"Have you looked at the test results?" I asked, summoning a strength I didn't know I had. My voice trembled in my throat, but I kept my gaze on his, steady and unwavering.

"No," he said, placing his hands on the table. "These are your test results, not mine."

"I want you to look at them," I said, feeling my voice crack. I knew this was going to happen, but I had to push through it, I had to make him believe the lies I was going to tell.

"Well, you can tell me what they are—"

"No," I said, tightening my grip on the chair. "I want you, and only you, to look at the results. I don't want to know."

"What? Bella, that's…unnecessary."

"I can't do this anymore, Edward," I said.

His expression changed in an instant, his eyes searching mine for answers. I nearly broke down at the flash of pain in his eyes, at the sudden realization of what I was doing.

"If you want a new doctor—"

"It's not just that," I interrupted. "I can't be with you anymore, Edward. I'm sorry."

I heard his breath catch, and he swallowed hard to clear his throat. I couldn't stand to look at him, so I focused instead on the window behind his desk, overlooking the city I loved. I knew then that even this place, this city I called my own, would never be the same.

"If this is because you think I feel sorry for you, or that you feel guilty—"

"It's not that," I lied, interrupting him before the sound of his voice could reduce me to tears. "I'm not in love with you, Edward."

He said nothing, and the silence in the room was so deafening that I could hear my own heart breaking. I wanted to take it back; I wanted to tell him that of course I loved him, I loved him more than my patients, my work, my own life. But this was the only way I could convince him to let me go. And as much as it broke him now, as horrific as it sounded to my own ears, it was the right thing to do. Edward would find love with someone else—someone who wasn't dying, someone who could give him everything I could not. I just hoped that someday he would realize that.

"Edward—" I began, desperate to fill the silence.

"I understand," he said, his voice stone cold, businesslike. I couldn't read the emotion in his voice; I couldn't tell if it was anger, or resentment, or just indifference. I couldn't tell, because Edward was speaking to me like Dr. Edward Cullen, devoid of all feeling aside from the searing intensity in his eyes.

"Okay," I said, breathing the word in a shaky, uncertain whisper. It's not too late to take it back, I told myself. _Take it back._

But he cut me off before I could get the words out, and his face was such a mask of stoic professionalism, that I knew I could never take it back.

"I will transfer your case to Alice, if you like. I trust her completely, and I think she's just as capable as any attending physician here."

I was still reeling from the flat tone of his voice, the way his expression had changed so drastically from concern and love and understanding to nothing at all. I couldn't stand to look at him, couldn't stand to be near him or see his face for another second. I rose shakily from my chair and smoothed the creases from my skirt, a nervous habit that he probably recognized, but he hardly seemed to notice.

"I'm sorry, Edward," I said, at a loss for any other words. I finally met his beautiful emerald eyes, and it was there that I saw a flicker of hurt, like a glimpse into his soul.

"There is nothing to be sorry about," he said in a harsh, curt rebuke.

Standing there, I felt the burning in my chest, the ripples in my throat that signified a flood of tears on the brink of release. So I just nodded, turned, and walked out the door.

Out of Edward's life. Forever.

***

**Please review and tell me you think I suck for breaking them up, or that you love angst, or that you have some input. :)**

**Thank you so much for reading!!  
**


	23. Reflex Action

**A/N: **I love break-ups. I have a masochistic appreciation for them. I could get into it, but it would be depressing. Anyway, here's Edward's POV...

Also, one reader asked about Edward's relationship to his friends/colleagues - I've tried to address that here, in this chapter. It was an important point, and I hope I did it justice.

Thank you so much for the reviews and feedback!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Twilight or its people.

***

**Chapter 23: Reflex Action  
**

**EPOV**

I didn't think I had breathed since the moment Bella stepped in my door. As soon as I heard the door close, I took a long, shaky breath, hoping to stop the room from spinning. I felt lightheaded, stunned, as though I had just come out of deep, deathlike sleep, and I didn't know where I was or what had happened to me. And it took a few minutes for the reality to settle in, for me to realize that Bella was gone.

I had spent the last ten years giving people bad news, watching them react at both ends of the spectrum and everywhere inbetween. I had never been on the receiving end, not since Esme died. But I had trained myself, through the eyes of all my patients, to handle the most personal conflicts with the most impersonal reactions. I didn't even know if Bella had noticed the war I was fighting with myself. I wondered if she would have acted any differently if she had.

I realized that her test results were still in the flimsy white envelope, crumpled with the sweat from my fingers. I made a decision right then, and it was impulsive as fuck, but it made complete sense to me. And I didn't think twice about it; I just acted on it, before I had the chance to reconsider.

I walked briskly out of my office and down the hall, where I knew I could find Alice. As expected, she was sitting in an empty exam room, reviewing her notes in peace. She looked up when I came in, and her expression morphed from surprise into alarmed concern.

"I need to talk to you," I said. She glanced at the envelope in my hand, and she gave me a puzzled look. "Is now an okay time?"

"Definitely," she said, shifting her seat so I could take the one beside her.

"Alice, you know I trust you more than anyone in this hospital."

Her eyes widened at the unexpected compliment, and she shifted awkwardly in her chair.

"Well, I…" she stammered, and her cheeks blushed in embarrassment.

"Alice, listen to me. I think you're an incredible physician, and despite all the bad moods I've put you through these last five years, I've valued your work ethic, compassion, and competence every single day you've been here."

"Thank you," she said, in a soft, tentative voice. "I appreciate that, Edward."

"I should have said it sooner. I don't know what the fuck I was waiting for."

"It's fine," she said, her dark eyes blazing. "I always knew that you respected me."

"I just wanted to apologize for the way I've behaved, if ever you felt that I was rude or overly demanding."

"No one's perfect. I can be rude and demanding, too."

"I think that's a stretch, Alice, but I'll let it go."

Her face broke into a small, modest smile, but the expression of concern still colored her features. She looked at me quizzically, as though she didn't know what to ask, because she couldn't fathom what could compel me to say all the things I had just said.

"I would like to ask you a favor," I said, placing the envelope on the table.

"Of course." She eyed the envelope out of the corner of her eye, clearly intrigued, but her voice trembled slightly with alarm.

"I want you to take over Bella's case."

"_What_?" she asked, as sheer disbelief flushed her face. "Why, Edward?"

"I'm leaving my position here. I want her to be in the best possible hands."

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words caught in her throat. So she let the silence hang there for a just a second, until she was sure she had heard me correctly.

"I don't understand," she said finally. "Why on earth would you be leaving?"

"I'm joining my father's practice in Washington. He's retiring soon, and he needs the help."

"But we need you here," she protested.

"This place is full of doctors just like me, Alice."

"Bullshit," she said, and the edge to her voice, and the word she used, caught me off guard. "What is this really about, Edward?"

I pushed the envelope toward her, saying nothing. There was nothing to say, really; that fucking envelope said it all.

"What is this?" she asked.

"It's Bella's results from the Huntington's test."

She inhaled sharply, and her whole body seemed to tense at the realization of what lay between us. She knew about Bella's struggle with the decision to get tested; she had encouraged her to do whatever felt right. But Alice's medical opinion, like mine, was for Bella to get tested so that we could treat her more adequately, perhaps start her on preventative experimental treatment.

"Is it positive?" she asked in a hushed, pained whisper.

"I don't know. Bella doesn't know either—she doesn't want to know. I'm giving it to you, in case she ever changes her mind."

"But she must have taken the test for a reason. She must want someone to look at it."

"Yes," I said. "She wanted her doctor to look at it."

"Then look at it," she argued.

"I'm not her doctor anymore. I leave it to your discretion."

"Edward, what happened? Why are you leaving, and why are you giving me the results of a test that could change Bella's life? Doesn't that concern you more than anyone?"

"No," I sighed, taking a slow, deep breath. I resisted the urge to look out the window, because it was something Bella would have done, and I couldn't think about that anymore. "If you want to know, then ask Bella. I'm no longer her doctor, or anything else."

"But you can't just abandon her, Edward. She needs you, she loves you—"

"It was her decision," I said, wincing at Alice's words. I never knew if Bella loved me; I never asked, and she never said. Perhaps it was the words she didn't say, rather than the ones she did, that I should have paid attention to.

"I see," she said finally.

I stood up, leaving Alice sitting there with the envelope at her fingertips, wondering what the hell had just happened. She sat in a stunned, heavy silence, that made me realize how much Alice cared, and that I wasn't the only one blindsided by the day's events.

"And Alice, I have one more favor to ask you," I said, and she slowly looked up. She just nodded this time, too drained to say anything.

"Can you update me on Bella's case? Send me her lab results, physical exam findings, any new developments. I would just like to be in the loop."

"Of course," she whispered.

I started to walk out, but her voice stopped me as I reached the door.

"What should I do, Edward?" she asked, trying unsuccessfully to control the tremor in her voice. She had the envelope in her hands, its edges already tattered and torn, its flap hanging open.

"Do what's best for Bella," I said, although I didn't know anymore what that was. I began to think, in some ways, that I never did.

***

Two weeks passed quickly, and in spite of the hospital's shock and outrage that I was leaving, I held firm on my decision. I didn't give a flying fuck about the bureaucracy of this place, and I didn't have time for their shit. But I spent most of the two weeks coordinating the transition of care for my patients, whose pleas for me to stay were much harder to ignore.

When I called Carlisle the day after Bella left, he knew me better than to sound excited about my change of heart. Instead, he treated it like any other mundane conversation, aside from the logistics of what my practice in Forks would entail. I told him I was open to anything, as long as it didn't involve pediatrics. He chuckled at that, and I wondered what the hell that meant. I figured I would find out when I got there.

Alice understood that the discussion regarding Bella's test, and my departure, was closed. It didn't stop her from begging me to stay, and her pleas were so heartfelt, and so sincere, that it made my heart ache a little bit to deny her. But when I made a decision, I always honored it. It was another one of my many rules, one the few I hadn't broken since Bella had come into my life.

On my last day of work, as the afternoon turned into evening, Alice came into my office, a cryptic look on her face.

"These aren't for me, I hope?" I asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Of course not," she said with a sly smile. I knew that look; I had seen it before, the day she and Jasper made me come to work as Dracula for Halloween.

"Good, because I'm done with those evil things."

"Well, there is one more patient you need to see."

I opened my mouth to call her out on her bullshit, but I couldn't argue with someone who looked so genuinely excited about something.

"All right," I sighed. "One more patient. Where is this special someone?"

"Right this way, Dr. Cullen," she chirped, turning on her heel down the hall. We rode the elevator down to the second floor, and I followed her to a very familiar place.

"This is not a patient's—" I started.

Suddenly, a massive throng of people behind the cafeteria doors materialized as I walked in, standing and clapping in deafening unison. I glanced at Alice, who looked back at me with a huge, knowing grin on her face. I opened my mouth to tell her how much I absolutely hated surprises, but I simply couldn't do it. Her smile was so genuine, so radiant, that I couldn't help but smile back, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. The cafeteria was filled to its utter capacity, and as I scanned the sea of faces, I recognized each and every one of them, their expressions united in deep, sincere gratitude.

I took a few steps into the huge room, and the mass of people inched forward, anxious to talk to me, to shake my hand, to tell me that they were alive because I had saved them. And I just shook their hands, and thanked them, too, because I didn't know what else to say. I saved them because I was their doctor; this is what I had been trained to do, what I was meant to do. I never expected anything in return.

But this was my reward. And it was larger than life, larger than medicine, and a hell of a lot larger than me. And even though Esme was not among them, I could picture her out there, somewhere, telling me that she hadn't died in vain, that all of these people were alive because by dying, she inspired me to help the living. And just like that, I felt some sense of peace that had eluded me for fifteen years.

But when I thought of Esme, and saw these faces, of course I thought of Bella. Her face was like a ghost in the crowd, a patient I hadn't saved but hadn't yet lost. I glanced over at Alice, whose eyes read the sudden flash of sadness in my own, and she smiled ruefully. It didn't matter, I realized. I couldn't save everyone. Life simply didn't work that way.

I spent three hours in the cafeteria, until I had spoken to every single person in the room. It was nearly midnight before the place was empty, aside from me, Alice, Jasper, and Emmett. We sat in a table by the window, drinking the beer that the mayor had provided.

"Who's going to be the asshole around here when you're gone?" Emmett asked, as he downed the last of his beer. No one was working tonight, so we all took full advantage of the mayor's generosity.

"Definitely Alice," Jasper smirked. Alice rolled her eyes, although an amused smile danced on her lips.

"I can be bitchy," she said, jabbing Jasper playfully in the gut. "If you want me to tone down the niceness, just say the word…"

"Don't tone it down, Alice," I said, while I reached for another beer. "Just don't ever let anyone give you a hard time."

"I know, Edward," she said, a warm smile on her face. "You've stood up for me before."

"Yeah, well, if you ever see Mike Newton again, transfer him to Forks and I'll give him the catheterization of a lifetime."

"I'd like to see that," Emmett chimed in.

"Sorry, Em, they don't make catheters that small—" Jasper said, stifling a laugh.

"Shut up, man," he teased. "Just because you're insecure about your package—"

"Can we not talk about packages?" Alice asked in her high, lilting voice. Jasper chuckled and rubbed her shoulders, pretending to calm her. "Edward, we need you around to stop conversations like this."

"Psh, Edward has been known to partake in conversations like this," Jasper said. "He's loosened up quite a bit."

"Yeah, and I'm not even your boss anymore, so you can finally be honest about all the shit I've put you through," I smirked, although I also meant what I said.

Jasper quirked an eyebrow at me, and a sly grin spread on his face, as he contemplated his next move. I wondered if he really would tell me what an asshole I was; I wondered if our friendship was just a façade that he had used to get ahead.

"I've learned a lot from you, Edward," he said, his tone unexpectedly serious. "I wouldn't have learned as much if you hadn't been such a dick at times."

"Well, I'm glad you learned something," I said, feeling the alcohol buzzing in my veins. "You've got an aptitude for this, Jasper. Don't let residency wear you down."

"Any sweet-nothings for me, man?" Emmett asked, grinning widely.

"No, your ego is already over-inflated. No compliments for you," I joked.

We sat in silence for a few seconds, and the stillness of the room reminded me of so many late nights I had spent in this cafeteria, studying the people that came and went. It was fitting that we were all here now, reminiscing and drinking beer, in this crazy, familiar place. For the first time in two weeks, I felt almost human again.

"I wish you didn't have to go," Alice said, her voice soft and gently pleading.

"You know I don't sleep, Alice. Call me anytime. Or come to Forks, if you're bored shitless."

"Will you come back ever? Won't you miss San Francisco?" she asked.

"I'll miss certain things," I said, and her face softened with understanding. I shook off the memory of Bella, sitting in her favorite café, telling me about an eventful bus ride or walk down a city street. I would miss that, more than she would ever know.

"In any case, thanks guys, for planning this. I sure as hell didn't deserve all this—"

"You did," Alice interjected, her charcoal eyes fixed on mine. "Don't forget these people, Edward. I know it's easy to think of the ones you lost, but don't forget the ones you saved."

***

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**Please review - you guys are great! Thanks!  
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	24. Guilttripping

**A/N**: So one of my favorite characters is reappearing...

Bella is speaking from the future...for the first part of it. She's reminiscing, then we catch up to her in present time.

I'm back from Vegas and still on spring break, which means daily updates. Thank you as always for reading and reviewing!!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Twilight but Rob is hot.

***

**Chapter 24: Guilt-tripping  
**

**BPOV**

I remember the day I left Edward, my tears coming in a rush before I even reached the hospital doors. Thankfully, I avoided Alice and Jasper, who would have stopped me on my way out. They would have told me to undo it, to go back and tell him it was all a lie, and I would have. Every single day, I wondered if Edward would ever forgive me. I wondered if he would even believe me, if I told him the truth.

I spent a month crying myself to sleep, missing Edward so much that I woke up choking on my own sobs, paralyzed with such intense feelings of hopelessness and regret that I didn't feel human anymore. I stumbled into work like a zombie, where I forced myself to go through the motions because I had no other choice. Rosalie called twenty times that first afternoon, and I ignored her. She had moved in with Emmett months earlier, but it took her a mere 24-hours to reassemble herself in my apartment, adamant about staying until I could function like a human being again. I didn't protest, because a part of me really wanted her to be there.

At first, Rosalie just sat with me until I had tired myself out from all the crying. But after a few weeks, she broke her silence and demanded to know what the hell I was thinking when I left Edward Cullen. She knew about the Huntington's test; she told me it was my decision, and she would support me no matter what I decided, but she didn't see what that had to do with Edward. I told her she didn't understand.

But Rosalie persevered, as I knew she would. She told me to call him, to see him, to beg him to take me back. And of course I desperately wanted to do that, but I had to think of Edward twenty years from now, watching my slow demise and wondering what his life would have been like if we hadn't met. And I couldn't fucking do that to him, even though it nearly killed me to let him go.

Alice called everyday that first month, but I ignored her. I knew Edward had transferred my case to her, but I didn't need to see her for routine blood tests. The phlebotomist could do that, and the tests were always normal, so I had no reason to go over there and risk seeing Edward. My heart ached at the sound of Alice's kind, familiar voice on my voicemail, but I hoped she would understand. Eventually, she stopped calling, and I wasn't sure if I was relieved or devastated.

Rosalie stayed for a month, and when she left, she promised to call me everyday. After she moved out again, I started spending more nights at the hospital, taking call whenever I could, so that I could avoid the sight of my own apartment and everything that it reminded me of. For once, I was grateful that the General ignored the state-regulated 80 hours per week, and I usually spent well over 100 at the hospital.

The tremors didn't stop, but they didn't get worse, either. I accepted it as an early symptom of the disease, which wasn't uncommon for Huntington's patients. I just tried not to think about it; I wanted to practice medicine and live my life normally, for as long as I possibly could. I wasn't going to waste time worrying about a disease I couldn't control.

***

Six months after I walked out of Edward's office, I was working late at the hospital, enjoying the relative calm of the wards at 4 in the morning. I groaned at the sound of my pager buzzing, especially when I recognized the department number. No good news ever came from the oncology ward.

I found the triage nurse on the fourth floor, her eyes heavy with sleep while she typed at the main computer. I tapped lightly on the desk, and she looked up.

"Someone paged me," I said, phrasing it like a polite question. She smiled tiredly and waved toward the hall of rooms to my left.

"Room six," she said. "It's not an emergency, just a request."

"A request?"

"The patient wanted to see you."

"Room six? Is he a new admit?" I didn't often have patients asking for me, especially since most of them were too young to spell their own names, much less remember mine.

"He came in tonight. But he's been here before, many times."

"I see," I said. "Thanks, Anne."

Intrigued, I walked toward the room, which was illuminated by a dim yellow light. The nurse hadn't yet updated the name outside the door, so I wasn't sure what I would find. I knocked first, and I heard a familiar voice over the low drone of the television set. The voice was lower, deeper, but still familiar.

"Hey, Sam," I said, surprised but happy to see one of my favorite patients. Well, I was never happy to see anyone in this place, but the sight of his face lifted my spirits.

"Hey," he said. He took his eyes off the television to look at me, and smiled. "Sorry to bug you so late."

"It's part of my job," I said, with a casual shrug. I took the seat by his bed, and watched while he channel surfed through late-night television.

"You grew," I commented. He had indeed grown—at least six-inches, and he didn't look like a kid anymore.

"Yeah. I wasn't sure I would, with the cancer and all. But I've been in remission for a while now."

"So I've heard," I said. "That's great, Sam."

"I'm back for a routine biopsy, though. I almost don't want to know what it shows."

His voice dropped, and he looked down awkwardly at his hands. His whole expression darkened, and despite the fact that Sam was one of the bravest people I knew, he looked vulnerable in that moment. My chest tightened at the thought of such crushing uncertainty, of always anticipating the worst. I had come to know that feeling well.

"I can understand that," I said. The tremor in my voice shocked me, especially now, when I hadn't thought of that test—and that day—in so many months.

"You can?" he asked. His eyes were a bright, questioning brown, and for some reason I couldn't explain, I just started talking.

"I was tested for the Huntington's Disease gene last year. Do you know what that is?"

"Yeah," he said. "I've heard of it."

"You have?" I looked at him in disbelief; I didn't think teenage boys cared much about rare genetic diseases.

"I watch _House_."

"Oh," I said, and he chuckled at my confused expression.

"Don't you watch TV?" he asked.

"Not too much," I admitted, smiling sheepishly.

"Doesn't surprise me," he teased. "But anyway, as you were saying?"

I took a deep breath, let my eyes settle on the subtle flicker of the television against the bare white walls. I felt relief flood through me, before the words even escaped my lips.

"My father had it, so I have a 50% chance of inheriting the disease. So I got the test, but I never learned what the result was."

"Why not? You didn't think you could handle it?"

"No, I wasn't worried about me. I was thinking of…someone else."

"Ah," he said, sitting up in his bed. "You were guilt-tripping?"

"You could say that," I sighed.

"I did the same thing, you know. Thought my parents hated me for having to babysit me here, miss work, spend all this money on surgeries and drugs. I felt like I was such a fucking inconvenience."

Even as he said the words, I realized how ridiculous it sounded. How could his parents, two people who loved him more than anything, resent their son for having an illness he couldn't control? And yet somehow, for some reason my senseless mind had constructed, I didn't think those rules applied to me—or to Edward.

I had made a mistake. An egregious, thoughtless, unforgivable mistake.

"But I was wrong," he continued. "They wanted to be here. It killed them _not_ to be here."

I looked down at the floor, willing myself not to cry, as the true realization of what I had done came raining down on me. It had taken a thirteen-year-old to make me see it—a kid who was wiser than most eighty-year-olds I knew, except he saw the world through the eyes of a child. His parents would have forgiven him if he had pushed them away; he was their son, and they loved him. But I had broken Edward—I had taken his love for me and desecrated it in one afternoon. How could I possibly be forgiven for that?

"Dr. Swan?" he asked, his voice rising with concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," I said, although my voice was shaking. "I just screwed up, is all."

"You can fix it," he said, his voice hopeful and light, like a child's should be. "Just apologize."

"It's too late."

"Nah, it's never too late. You're a doctor, right? You didn't get here by giving up on things."

I smiled sadly, grateful for the dim light of the room that masked the tears in my eyes. I realized that this is why I worked with kids. They saw things in black and white—no grey area. Life was simple, fixable. Somewhere along the way, we all grew up and lost sight of that.

"Thanks, Sam. You know, you're kind of wise beyond your years."

"Yeah, my mom tells me that. I'm cool with it, though. I'm going to try using it on the girls at school."

I smiled at that, picturing Sam at school, wooing the ladies. He was tall and lanky, and his hair had grown back; I had a feeling he would do okay.

"Well, don't get discouraged, because girls are evil," I said.

"So I've heard," he smirked.

I heard my pager go off, signaling the end of my little chat with Sam. I saw his expression fall slightly, but he shook it off with an easy, casual smile.

"Thanks for stopping by," he said, as I rose up from my chair and headed for the door.

"Thanks for the chat," I replied, struck by the sheer optimism in Sam's eyes—something I hadn't seen all those months ago, at the height of his cancer battle. "And good luck, Sam. With everything."

"Thanks," he said. "But Dr. Swan?"

"Yeah?"

"You too."

***

Two hours later, when my shift ended, I took the shuttle directly to Edward's hospital. Despite the fact I hadn't slept for nearly twenty-four hours, and that I had slept the last three nights in the noisy halls of the General, I wasn't tired. I was exhilarated, for the first time in months. I could fix this. I had to.

The orange glow of the rising sun shrouded the halls in an eerie light, and it reminded me of the first time I met Edward. The early mornings always reminded me of him, when he would wake up at dawn and stroke my hair, my shoulders, my back…thinking, of course, that I was still asleep. But I never told him otherwise, because I loved the feel of his fingers on mine, loved the intimacy of his warm, lazy caresses. I never allowed myself to think about it, but I thought about it now.

I avoided the elevators and ran up the stairs instead, hoping to find him rounding on the sixth floor, as he always did at this time of the morning. I didn't give a shit about the other attendings, or residents, or nurses, or whoever else might be rounding with him; nothing else mattered to me. Fortunately the stairs were empty, and my eyes darted down the hall as I climbed the last steps.

I rounded the corner in a rush, but I crashed headlong into someone carrying a huge stack of charts, which tumbled noiselessly to the floor. The air caught in my throat at the sight of Alice, who stood there with her mouth open, her eyes a shocked, dazzling brown. We just stood there for a few seconds, still reeling from the encounter, my breaths coming in desperate heaves as I struggled to recover from the sprint up the stairs.

"Alice, I'm sorry—"

"Bella!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around me in a warm, eager embrace. When she pulled back, a genuine smile graced her face, and the surprise on her face slowly transformed into pure joy.

"I've missed you so much, Bella. You just disappeared."

"I know, Alice," I said, and I felt my face flush with guilt. "I'm so sorry for not calling you back."

"It's okay," she said, and she clearly meant it. "I understood."

"I really missed you, too."

"I'm glad you're here," she said in her usual high, bubbly voice. "Jasper will be so happy to see you."

My face fell as I thought of Edward, and the omission in her words. Would Edward not be happy to see me? Did he never want to see me again?

"Actually, Alice, I need to talk to Edward first. Is he here?"

Her expression changed suddenly, and my stomach dropped. I felt like my entire plan to talk to him had abruptly shifted, and I didn't know why.

"Bella, I thought maybe you knew…Edward left."

"He _left_? Where did he go?" I croaked.

"He moved to Washington to practice with his father. He left six months ago."

I felt like my own air was choking me, caught in the back of my throat, making it impossible for me to breathe. I couldn't believe what she was saying; my brain simply wouldn't process it. She must have seen the look of sheer horror and disbelief on my face, because she took me gently by the arm and led me into an empty room.

"I can't…I don't…why, Alice? Why did he leave?"

"He didn't say why, exactly. He just said it was your decision."

My decision. Yes, it had been my decision, and it was the worst fucking decision I had ever made. And I regretted now, as I had regretted it then, but now it was too late.

"It was," I said softly, my voice dry in my throat.

"What happened?"

"I told him I didn't love him."

"_What_? Why?"

"It was the only way he would let me go."

"But why would you want that? He loved you so much, Bella. You changed him."

"Because I have Huntington's, Alice! How could I possibly expect Edward to sacrifice his entire life for me, just to watch me wither and die in a nursing home? It wasn't fair to him. I could never ask that of anyone."

"Wait—what?" Her face was a stunned, pale white, as though the blood had simply drained from her face.

"I told you about the test. I came in one day six months ago, and Edward had the results—"

"I know," she said, cutting me off. "I spoke to him that day."

"Then what don't you understand?"

"The test is negative, Bella. You don't have Huntington's Disease."

***

**Maybe you saw that coming? :)**

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**


	25. Cyclical Behavior

**A/N**: Well, now we're back to Edward's POV, which starts the day after his going-away party at the hospital. And then six months go by, where the last chapter (in BPOV) left off...Also, I hate separating my two main characters, so it won't last long.

And no, Jacob will not be making an appearance in this story. Ever. I understand love triangles, and can appreciate them at times, but overall I kind of hate them. That doesn't mean I don't like to toy with them for a bit, until I kill them with gusto. This is an Edward/Bella story, and...yeah. That's what this is.

Thanks as always for reading!! I didn't get a chance to respond to everyone, but thank you so much for your reviews!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Twilight.

***

**Chapter 25: Cyclical Behavior  
**

**EPOV**

I landed at the Seattle airport on a Tuesday morning, and Carlisle was waiting for me at the gate like I was a college kid again, coming home for the holidays. I had hired someone to move everything up here, including my car—I hated moving, and I had avoided the chore of doing so for years. I didn't give a shit that it cost a fortune; I could afford it.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and took a few long steps toward my father, whose expression was set in a tight, cautious smile. I shook his hand, and he pulled me into an unexpected embrace. Brief and awkward as fuck, but a sign of affection nonetheless. I wondered what the hell had gotten into my old man.

"It's good to see you, Edward," he said, his blue eyes warm and bright in the stark white lights of the terminal. "How was your flight?"

"Uneventful," I said, thankful that Carlisle had spared me an effusive welcome back to Forks. I already knew how pleased he was to see me; he didn't have to gloat that I had come back. And while the tension between us was definitely still there, I could see he had plans to diffuse it gradually.

"I'm parked this way."

I followed him down the terminal to the parking garage, and I immediately spotted his old, paint-chipped Saab. The thing was actually a piece of shit, but Carlisle loved that car. It was Esme's, and he had never parted with it.

"Still driving Mom's car around?"

"It doesn't give me any trouble," he said, in typical laconic fashion. We had that in common, at least.

We sat in silence for a while, as my eyes adjusted to the sight of endless pines and clouds in the place of hills and thick fog. Even after all these years, I still felt oddly comforted by the distinctive setting of the Pacific Northwest. It still felt like home.

As we descended deeper into the trees and rain, Carlisle suddenly broke the silence. I wondered how long he had been sitting there, working himself up to say something. Probably since the moment we got in the car.

"So I've worked out some ideas for your scheduling, if you would like to hear it," he said, his voice gruff but cautiously optimistic.

"Let's have it," I said, genuinely intrigued by the sudden 9 to 5 lifestyle I would be leading. Overnight call was still a reality—always was for doctors, even in towns as tiny as Forks—but I had a feeling I wouldn't be seeing a hell of a lot of drug addicts, prostitutes, and celebrities up here.

"Well, I spoke with the University of Washington hospitals, and they would like you to rotate there at least a few days out of the month. They are willing to work out a very flexible arrangement with you."

"I moved to Forks for a reason, Carlisle. I'm trying to live the small-town life." I was being serious, for the most part, but I wondered if he picked up on the mild sarcasm in my voice.

"I know that, but I think you'll feel more challenged in a city hospital. It'll keep you from getting bored around here. You may get tired of the typical Forks patient."

"Which is?"

"Hypertension, diabetes, high cholesterol…the usual things affecting old fogeys like me."

"You aren't old, Carlisle," I said, not as a compliment, but as a fact. "You could practice till you're 100 if you wanted to."

"Well, I could use the help. In any case, I thought you might want to think about the UW position. As for Forks, you'll have your own office in my clinic, and you can see patients there whenever you like. Twice a week I see patients at the Port Angeles hospital, which is where I refer people for emergency care."

"I see," I said, although my mind had already wandered to the image of my father's office the way I remembered it, its walls lined with books, his desk cluttered with charts and papers and random tokens of appreciation from his patients. And I remembered Esme bringing flowers in once a week, because she thought they had a calming effect on patients. She was right, of course. My father and I never worked a day in the office without fresh flowers in a vase by the window.

"And you'll see everyone, Edward. Adults, children, geriatric patients—"

"Children? I'm not a pediatrician."

"With kids, ninety-nine percent of the time it's a stomach ache or a bad case of the sniffles. I think you'll get the hang of it."

I opened my mouth to say something, but decided against it. I didn't like children, and I didn't really know why, but I would learn to deal with it. At least kids didn't cause their own health problems—for the most part, anyway. Then again, I knew the real reason for my reservations about pediatric patients, and Carlisle—like everyone else in this town—would never know about that.

"When do I start?"

"How does tomorrow sound? It's a good thing you know the governor—he expedited your licensing application."

I thought of the governor and a rather embarrassing incident involving body parts, and things too big to fit into body parts. That guy definitely owed me a few favors.

"Sounds good," I said. The sooner the better—what the hell else was I going to do to keep myself occupied? And I knew I had to keep myself occupied, because my mind always wandered to certain things when I had nothing else to think about.

We passed the familiar wooden sign signaling our entrance into Forks, and I wasn't prepared for the tightening in my chest at the sight of this little town, the one my parents knew and loved, the same one I had left without a second thought. It had hardly changed, like a place frozen in time. A steady, grey rain provided the backdrop to the little storefronts and parked cars, just as I remembered it.

"I looked into that property you mentioned on the edge of town, and Harry would like to talk it over with you tomorrow if you're still interested," Carlisle said, interrupting my thoughts.

"That sound be fine. Thanks for doing that."

Carlisle glanced over at me, his eyes wider, his expression softer; maybe he was still a little stunned by the drastic change in tone from our last visit. But this time, I just didn't see a reason for any hostility, especially since I couldn't imagine Esme coming up in conversation any time soon.

"Until then, you're of course welcome in your old house. I'm afraid I use your room as a study these days, so I made up the guest bedroom for you."

I said nothing, just nodded as he pulled up the long drive to the house I had grown up in. It was an old, regal house, with sprawling windows and a back yard that sloped toward the river. He loved this house almost as much as the damn car, and I knew he would never leave either one of them.

The familiar scent of oak and lavender struck me as I walked inside, and it boggled my mind how all these years hadn't changed the way this house smelled, looked, and felt. Carlisle had made a few changes—I could see that in the clutter that had accumulated in the living and dining room—but its essence was the same. He refrained from making a sappy comment about my long-awaited return, and again, I silently thanked him for it.

Carlisle disappeared into the kitchen while I climbed the stairs, and I ignored the door to my old bedroom as I headed toward the end of the hall. I found the empty guest bedroom there, along with two boxes I had shipped to Carlisle's address. The rest of anything I considered worthwhile was in storage, where it would stay until I talked to this Harry guy about his property for sale.

I looked outside at the grey, gloomy skies, trying to gauge what time it was. I realized I didn't really give a shit that it was the middle of the afternoon, and I was suddenly tired, and there was no one around to care that I felt like taking the first afternoon nap of my life. So I just lay there on the bed, staring at the ceiling, oddly pleased by the sound of the rain falling on the wet pines.

As my mind drifted, I thought of Bella, and of running away, and I wondered for the first time if leaving was a fucking cowardly thing to do. But I never second-guessed myself; I had made a decision, and here I was, and there was no point deliberating its merits. The best way to forget something is to get the hell away from it.

I had done it once before, and here I was. Right back where I started.

***

I woke up before dawn the next day, and I was shocked to hear Carlisle putzing around in the kitchen. I had never in my life met someone who rose earlier than I did; maybe the man didn't sleep at all.

He uttered a gruff good morning when I came in, and I sat at the table with my laptop and a glass of orange juice, feeling like Esme was going to walk in at any second and ask me about my track meet or prom date. It was kind of bizarre, but not altogether unpleasant. I just felt like I was in some kind of time warp.

I felt more like myself at the clinic, which was just a mile or so outside of downtown. Carlisle gave me the tour, which took precisely three minutes, including the small, messy room that would serve as my office. He said I was welcome to meet all of his patients for the day; I said I didn't want to cramp his style. We compromised by splitting up the schedule, and staying out of each other's way.

At 10 am, a tall, slim brunette with glasses and a clipboard came knocking at my door. She looked vaguely familiar, but in a mildly unpleasant way, like she was part of some memory I had tried to repress. She smiled nervously when she came in, and it all clicked when I saw her scrubs. A Weber girl. The nurse. But she wasn't sixteen anymore, as I remembered her—it almost surprised me that people in this town actually aged.

"Hi, Dr. Cullen? Can I come in?"

"Sure," I said, waving her in. "And call me Edward." I realized all my patients would have to call me Edward—I didn't like answering to 'Dr. Cullen' with my father around. I felt like I was stealing his thunder or something.

"I'm Allison Weber," she said in a timid voice, and I noticed the clipboard shaking slightly. This poor girl was having an anxiety attack—was I really that intimidating? Jeezus, it felt like I hadn't left San Francisco at all.

"Well hi, Allison." Her name caught in my throat a bit, as I realized I had the Weber girls confused. Angela was the older sister, the one I had taken to the prom—definitely a repressed memory. Allison was a few years younger, and I had only talked to her a few times, if at all.

"I work here," she mumbled.

"I can see that," I said, hoping a smile would loosen her up. It did not. "Can I ask what you do around here?"

"I'm an RN—I finished nursing school about a year ago. So I see some patients, and I help Dr. Cullen with whatever he needs."

"Well, I'm sure he appreciates the help," I said. She forced a smile, but she looked so damn nervous that it was making me uncomfortable. I would have to work on her.

"I can help you, too, of course," she added.

"Thanks. I'll be sure to let you know if I need any."

She nodded and backed up toward the door, clearly anxious to escape. But she froze at the sound of my voice, and her shoulders tensed at the sound of her name.

"Oh, and Allison?"

"Yes, Dr. Cullen—I mean, Edward. I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"I don't bite."

Her expression softened just the tiniest bit, and I considered it progress. I didn't want to be the doctor that people feared, the boss that barked orders and didn't give a shit who followed them, so long as it was done. I wasn't even sure what I really wanted, but I knew I wanted something else out of my life as a physician. Something deeper.

***

Unlike my crazed existence in San Francisco, where I spent more time at the hospital than at home, the days in Forks passed in predictable fashion. I got up before dawn, went for a long run through the woods, caught up on research and new treatments, went to the office or the hospital in Port Angeles, and came home again. Twice a month I drove to Seattle, where I consulted on patients, and I usually stayed in the city for a few days, just to remind myself that life existed outside of Forks. I missed the pulse of the city—the sounds of the street at night, the crowded bars and restaurants, the people hurrying from one place to the next. But Forks was in my blood, and small-town life suited me in its own way. Somehow, I managed to strike a balance between the two.

I bought an old, rustic house off Harry Clearwater the day after Carlisle picked me up from the airport, and I used every spare hour I had to fix the place up. It sat on the top of a massive hill, and on a rare clear day, I could see for miles from its second-floor windows. I moved a grand piano into the house before I even acquired a bed, and it sat by the window in the corner room. I often played for hours, lulled into a trance by the gloom outside, the piano's rich, low notes mingling with the steady drone of the rain.

I adjusted quickly to the daily schedule of patients, if one could call it a schedule. People called up, came in, sometimes with actual physical ailments, but oftentimes not. A lot of them just wanted to talk to me, vent about their problems, reassure themselves they weren't dying of a lethal cold virus. Several people came in just to meet me, because they had heard about Dr. Cullen's mysterious son who had suddenly moved back into town.

And, of course, I had a fair share of matchmaking mothers come into my office, who had no qualms name-dropping their daughters. I always just smiled and nodded, and thought seriously about wearing a ring to get them off my back. But at the same time, I didn't care enough to do anything about it, although I had come to expect the unexpected. And if it happened, I wouldn't exactly want it, or need it, but I wouldn't care enough to completely reject it, either.

And as the months passed and the distance between my past and present life increased, I hardly thought of Bella anymore, unless Alice called or e-mailed or faxed her case file to my office. And even then, I managed to forget those brief interruptions more quickly, like any skill that is learned, honed, and perfected.

I spoke to Alice once or twice a month, not about Bella, but about her case. I approached it medically, scientifically—I removed her name from the file, and looked at the labs, tests, exam findings, and images objectively. And I kept coming back to the same thing, the same annoying little blip in her file that made me second-guess every other aspect of it. But I couldn't mention it to Alice, because I couldn't justify tests based on a hunch. That's all it was, and it wasn't enough.

So I sat on the file for six months, returning to it every so often late at night, after my fingers were raw from playing the piano. Sometimes I spent hours poring over it, other times, just a few minutes. But no matter how much time I devoted to it, the conclusion was always the same. I was just missing a piece. One piece…

Tonight I was sitting at my desk in my tiny office, staring at that same page in the chart, the one that had tortured me for months. When someone knocked at the door, I almost jumped out of my fucking skin; it took me a few seconds to even remember where I was.

"Come in," I said, grateful for the chance to take a break from this unsolvable beast. I rubbed my temples and stared out the window; my eyes slowly adjusted to the distance, and I felt my headache ebb just a bit.

Allison walked in, a shy smile on her face. "Hey," she said. "Still working late?"

"Bad habit," I explained.

"Mrs. Cope's blood pressure problems keeping you up with worry?" she teased.

Close, I felt like saying. But it wasn't Mrs. Cope keeping me up, and it was a hell of a lot more frustrating—and serious—than some mild hypertension.

"I think it'll be time to move back to the city if that ever happens," I said instead.

"Yeah," she agreed, her voice a shade quieter.

"Shouldn't you have gone home hours ago?" Allison often came in here just to chat, which was fine with me, but she had never taken it any further than that. And I didn't give her any indication that I would have reciprocated if she had, but tonight she seemed a little bolder. And it was late as fuck, which made things somewhat more interesting.

"I was helping with the electronic chart transfer," she explained. Every doctor's office in the country was going electronic; I had implemented that change in Forks the day I got here. I despised those paper charts.

"I see," I said, and now I was genuinely intrigued. She stood there by the door, obviously stalling. I was kind of amused by the whole thing, and I just let the silence hang there, waiting for her to execute her plan, whatever the hell it was.

"I was thinking of getting a drink across the street," she said finally. "Would you…um…would you like to come?"

"If I don't go, will you be drinking alone?"

"Oh," she stammered. "I guess…I don't know…"

"I'm just teasing you, Allison. Yeah, sure I'll go."

My own answer surprised me, but hell, I needed to get out of this office and back into the land of the living. And as shady as the neighborhood pub was, it served beer, and I really needed one of those.

***

**Thanks for reading and reviewing!!  
**


	26. Pruritis

**A/N: **So Bella does what I would have done...and have done...and it had to be done.

I've been fortunate enough to never receive really bad news, and I can't imagine how I would react to a test result like this. Bella literally dodged a bullet with this one, and while it will sink in later how truly lucky she is, it's almost like it isn't real to her yet. I hope I've conveyed that.

And I'm sorry I had to introduce Allison...she's here for a reason...don't worry.

Pruritis is a fancy name for a skin rash.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Twilight.

***

**Chapter 26: Pruritis  
**

**BPOV**

_Negative? _The word reverberated in my ears like a siren, its meaning shattering everything I thought I knew in a single second. It had to be positive—I knew it was, felt it in the cells of my body, like a ticking time bomb. I had trained myself to ignore it, accept it, live with it.

Negative. Negative. _Negative_.

And then it dawned on me.

_What have I done_?

"Bella, are you okay?" Alice asked, and her voice sounded like a distant echo in my ears. I felt her warm, tiny hands on my arms, which brought everything more into focus, like a jolt back into reality.

I suddenly felt the tears on my face, as the shock of the news burned through me. Alice took me into her arms, hugging me tightly while I tried to make sense of it—all of it, not just the fact that I had evaded death with a single test, but also how differently my life might be right now if I had simply looked at the result months earlier.

"It's negative, Bella. You should be _happy_," she said.

"But I…if I had known…Alice, this is all my fault."

Her expression changed when she registered the distant, despairing look on my face, and when she spoke, it was with a calm, firm resolve.

"It's no one's fault, Bella. You made a personal decision. No one is saying it was the wrong one."

"_I'm_ saying it was!" I exclaimed. "I need to talk to him. I need to fix this, Alice."

"I can call him—" she started.

"No, I'm going there. Up to Washington. I have to talk to him in person." My voice shook with urgency, but I didn't care. I didn't even know where he lived, but I would drive across the state ten times if I had to.

"I can help you," she said, her face brightening. She took me by the arm and led me down the hall to an empty exam room. She sat at the computer by the window, and scribbled something on a post-it note.

"I don't have his home address, but this is his clinic." She handed it to me, and for the second time that day, shock rippled through my veins.

"This is Forks, Washington?" I croaked.

She eyed me questioningly, while I thumbed the note in my fingers. "Do you know it?" she asked.

"Yes…I've been there…nevermind. It's not important right now."

She gave me a perplexed look, but let it go. "So you know how to get there? It's very remote, apparently."

I nodded, as the images of my father's tiny town flickered in my mind. It was a strange, unexpected feeling, but the uncanny connection made me feel justified in traveling a thousand miles on a whim. I would make peace with my father's memory, and with Edward, too. If nothing else, I could rid myself of so much regret; I could say—even if it was too late—that I had tried.

"Thanks, Alice. I don't know how I could possibly make this up to you."

"You don't owe me anything, Bella. Just, you know…whatever happens, I'm here for you."

"I know," I said, a thankful smile gracing my face. "I've always known that."

She stood up and hugged me again, and I could feel my heart racing with the anticipation of what the next twenty-four hours would bring. I wondered if it was even possible for someone's life to change so completely, so drastically, in just one day. I felt like I had come back from the dead—and in some ways, and in one very absolute way, I had indeed escaped a death sentence.

"But Bella, before you go," she said, as I turned to leave. I noticed her smile fade, and concern dawned in her expression. And I knew, before she even spoke, what she was going to say.

"If it's not Huntington's, then it's something else," I said softly, meeting her worried gaze.

She nodded, her eyes fixed on mine.

"I've kept Edward up to date on your case," she said. "You should ask him about it when you talk to him."

"He's been following my case?" I asked, surprise and relief washing through me.

"He requested it when he left, but he also told me not to tell you."

My heart sank, but I could understand Edward's motives. He would have wanted me to think that he had completely respected my decision, which involved removing himself from my life entirely. But at the same time, I knew that even if I forced him out of my life, forced him to believe that I could do this on my own, he would finish what he started. He would never give up on me.

"You never forget the ones you love, Bella," she said, her charcoal eyes burning. "Remember that."

***

My apartment was about a twenty-minute walk from this hospital, but the thought of going back there for a change of clothes escaped my mind completely. Instead I went straight to the airport, bought a ticket for the first outgoing flight to Seattle, and suffered miserably through the two-hour flight. When we arrived, I practically ran through the airport, searching frantically for the rental car desks. I realized then that my damn license was expired, which made sense since I hadn't driven in years. I found the bus terminal and let out a frustrated groan.

Resigned to the only option remaining, I endured several buses over a stretch of seven hours, until the little town of Forks finally came into view. The driver unloaded me at the center of town, in the midst of a swirling, drenching rain. I pulled the note from my pocket and walked into the nearest store, a drugstore I recognized from years ago.

"Can I help you?" The woman at the cashier's desk look up, a cheerful smile on her face. I smiled politely and placed the note on the desk.

"Do you know where this is?" I asked.

"Oh, Dr. Cullen's office. That's about a mile down the road."

My heart stuttered at the sound of Edward's last name, but it sank just a second later when I realized I would have to walk a mile in the rain.

"I see," I said. "I'm guessing there isn't a bus that goes there?"

"A bus? Why no, dear. But if you need a lift, I'd be happy to drive you myself."

Her offer startled me; I just wasn't used to small-town hospitality. But I was soaking wet and miserable, and I did not feel like walking the mile to the office in the pouring rain.

"Really? I don't want to inconvenience you."

"Oh don't be silly. You're already soaked—I wish I could offer you a change of clothes, too."

She smiled and led me to her car, an old Honda that smelled of freshly-baked cookies. She was a plump, simply-dressed woman in her sixties, whose white hair sat in big, bouncy curls on her head. Her face was honest and genuine, and I began to understand why my father had stayed in a town like this all his life.

"How do you know Dr. Cullen?" she asked, and again I felt my breath catch in my throat. I swallowed hard, and forced myself to pull it together.

"I was a patient of his in San Francisco," I said. She looked at me with a puzzled look, which lasted a few seconds before understanding dawned on her face.

"Ah, you know Edward. That makes sense—I can tell you're a city girl," she said.

"I could get used to this, though," I replied, wondering if Edward had felt the same way the day he arrived here. "Forks is very charming."

"Well, I've been here all my life. I'm surprised Edward came back; I always figured it must be hard to live here after having everything at your fingertips in a city like San Francisco."

A little sigh escaped my lips, as I thought of the city Edward had loved, and left, because of what I had done. I wondered if he ever thought of the thick fog, the steep hills, the distinctive neighborhoods; and if he did, I wondered if he thought of me.

"We're here," she announced, pulling up to a single-story building with a little wooden sign out front. I smiled and thanked her again, but I could hear the obvious tremor in my voice, and my knees almost gave way beneath me when I climbed out of the car. For a second, I wasn't sure I could physically do this.

I took a slow, deep breath and stood outside the office in the pouring rain, before taking the five quick steps to the front door. I went inside and found a small, empty waiting room, with toys scattered everywhere. This place looked nothing like Edward's old office—it was intimate, slightly cluttered, and very child-friendly. I couldn't help but smile at the sight of something so comforting, and so familiar, to me. Some of the tension melted away, and I finally felt like I could breathe again. And then I looked up at the clock, and panic struck me.

It was almost eight, long after business hours. But the front door was unlocked—didn't that mean someone had to be here? People didn't just leave their doors open for the night, at least not in San Francisco. But this was Forks, so of course people did things differently. They probably had one crime a decade in this place.

I sat down in one of the well-worn, but comfortable chairs, and sighed. Now I felt like an intruder, a fool, a strange outsider who was soaking wet, stupid, and at the moment, homeless. I pulled out my cell phone to call Alice or maybe even Edward, but of course the rain had killed that, too.

I suddenly felt drained. Just completely, utterly spent, like everything was pointless. I had tried, I had failed. I couldn't stay here, but I had nowhere to go.

So I finally forced myself to stand, fighting the fatigue that coursed through my muscles. My body trembled from the cold, and I could feel the dampness from my hair seeping through my shirt. I didn't mind walking from here back to town; I'd walk all the way back to San Francisco if I could. I felt like I deserved it.

But as I stood up and took my first step toward the door, I heard a door open and a toddler came charging down the hall, his giggles filling the room. His mother came around the corner next, and before I could react, Edward froze behind her, his eyes wide with shock and scrutiny, his beautiful face a dizzying mix of emotion. I couldn't look away.

The young mother stole a quick glance at me and then scooped her child up in her arms, and walked out the door. The absence of her son's giggles reduced the room to a deafening silence, and I felt like the entire world had evaporated except for the two of us. I could see only Edward, and the emptiness that had tortured me for the last six months completely disappeared, almost as if it had never been there at all.

"Bella," he breathed, and his voice warmed me to my very core. Every nerve in my body stood on end, like a fire raging through my veins. I took a deep breath to calm myself, but it merely left me gasping for air. I felt the familiar heat rise in my cheeks, and for once, I didn't care.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. His low, velvet voice trembled slightly, which made my breath catch. Was it possible that he hadn't forgotten me? That just by seeing me, he felt all the same things, as though no time had passed?

But I knew, just by looking at him, that even if that were the case, Edward would do everything in his power to suppress it. It was up to me to break his stoic exterior, to give him a reason to take me back.

"I needed to talk to you," I said, barely above a whisper. He stood a few feet away from me, just a step outside the hallway, and I wanted to run to him and kiss him and never let him go. But he didn't move, and I couldn't dictate this. I had to wait, to talk to him, to apologize first for all I had done.

"You came all this way to do that?" he asked, and I noticed the strain in his voice as he spoke, the yearning for answers I couldn't yet give.

"It's very important," I said.

"All right," he said, his gaze fixed intently on mine. "Would you like to talk here?"

"Here is fine," I managed.

"Well, let's talk in my office. I can't think straight in a waiting room." He forced a small smile before leading me to the end of the hallway, and into his tiny office. I followed a few steps behind him, intoxicated by the familiar scent of him, and the way he walked and breathed and spoke.

I understood why I had forced myself not to think about him. It would have killed me to remember even the slightest details. It killed me now to think of it, all of it, as I sat in the chair across from his desk. Our arrangement reminded me of that day six months ago, which made my stomach drop with a feeling of dread. Why hadn't he taken me to an exam room? Why subject me to this?

I knew why, and it made my heart ache with longing and regret. He wanted this to be professional, impersonal. He wouldn't have it any other way.

"Edward, I—"

"Wait," he interrupted. "I can't be responsible for your pneumonia. Change into these and I'll come back in a few minutes."

He handed me a fresh, folded pair of scrubs, and then walked out the door to let me change. I should have thanked him, at the very least, but I was still too stunned by the sheer presence of him to say or do anything. So I did as he asked, and waited for him to come back.

He knocked gently a few minutes later, and took his seat behind the desk. I could smell his familiar, delicious scent emanating from the oversized scrubs, and it left me light-headed. Already this plan was doomed.

He waited for me to say something, as I knew he would. I had practiced this conversation a trillion times on my way up here, but now I couldn't formulate a single coherent thought.

"I'm sorry for just barging in here—" I began.

"I hope you didn't come up here to apologize, Bella. You know how I feel about that."

I could sense a hint of lightness in his tone, but I couldn't be sure. In any case, I had a hell of a lot of apologizing to do, so already he was making this extremely difficult.

"I just wanted to talk to you about something," I mumbled.

"Okay," he said.

"I just…I just wanted to tell you that…" I trailed off, feeling my face flush with an intense, fiery heat. Why the hell was this so hard?

"Can you hold on a second, Bella?"

The air caught in my throat, as I registered the sound of his chair shifting against the floor. He stood and walked over to me, and took one of my arms in his, his fingers brushing along my skin.

"How long have you had this?" he asked, while my heart pounded in my chest. I had learned to ignore the annoying pink rash on my skin for weeks, and I was surprised he had even noticed it.

"A little over a month," I said, once I could get the words out.

"Just on your arms?"

"Well, no," I admitted. "I had something similar on my face a couple months ago, but it cleared up on its own. And it was hardly noticeable, really."

"Jeezus," he muttered to himself, shaking his head slightly. "Your blood pressure has been up, hasn't it?"

"Yes," I said, thinking back to my last appointment. "But only slightly. Why? What's wrong?"

Alarm had crept into my voice, and he fixed his gaze on mine, his eyes burning with a kind of intensity I had never seen before.

"I need to do a kidney biopsy."

"What?" I asked, and it came out sounding like a high-pitched shriek. "My renal function tests have all been normal—"

"I need to do the test. Please, Bella. I'm sorry to put you through this, but it's absolutely necessary."

"Okay," I whispered, and he sat down in the seat next to me, his hand still clutching my arm, making my blood tingle in my veins.

"I can't do it here, but I can take you to the hospital in Port Angeles."

"All right," I said, because I would have agreed to a heart transplant if Edward had suggested it.

"Good," he said, standing up. "We're leaving now."

***

**A/N**: Kidney problems can cause all kinds of effects on the body, and pruritis is fairly common. Since your kidneys filter toxins from your blood, if they aren't working properly, those waste products can settle in blood vessels and cells, causing a rash. Swelling is also pretty common - this occurs when your kidneys can't remove extra fluid correctly. Hypertension (high blood pressure) is often a symptom of renal problems, since the kidneys regulate blood pressure as well as fluid retention. Lab tests and urine sediments are usually diagnostic for kidney failure, but not always.

There are a lot of ways to evaluate kidney function, but a biopsy in this case was necessary to assess the extent of the damage. When I get to the diagnosis, I think it will be more clear.

Also, renal = kidney-related.

Please review. Thanks everyone!!


	27. Butterfly Rash

**A/N**: I'll write a longer author's note at the end of this chapter.

Thanks as always for your feedback! I've gotten some great questions/insights/criticisms - please send those along, and I'm happy to answer them!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Edward Cullen and his minions.

***

**Chapter 27: Butterfly Rash  
**

**EPOV**

Nothing could have prepared me for that night, that single instant when I walked into that waiting room and saw Bella standing there, soaking wet and impossibly beautiful, like some kind of apparition. I knew she was real—knew by the faint blush in her cheeks, the smooth ivory of her skin, the searing depths of her chocolate eyes. I knew because even in my dreams, I couldn't create something that fucking beautiful. She only existed in real life.

Of course I still loved her, missed her, wanted her. Six months—hell, six decades—would never change that. But I had my life here, a product of the decision I had made, and I was committed to upholding that.

But another part of me said the hell with rules and decisions and my own goddamn pride. It would be so easy to just fucking indulge in this moment, as a rare reprieve from so many months of shoving her memory to the back of my mind because I had to. Because if I thought about her, remembered her, it put me in a shitty mood knowing I couldn't actually be with her. But she was here now, standing in my cramped waiting room, looking at me with such _conflict_ on her face that it made my heart lurch in my chest.

I forced my reaction down my throat with a hard, dry swallow, but it didn't stop me from saying her name, and the word itself coursed through me like a slow, simmering burn. The silence that followed was sharp and disarming, so I filled it with a question—the most important question, really—and waited for her to say something.

I don't know how the fuck I managed to keep it together while she attempted to explain her reasons for being here, and frankly, I couldn't think of a single justifiable reason for anyone to travel 1,000 miles to this place, in the middle of nowhere. Then again, I would have done it, for Bella. But I couldn't allow myself to think about that, to even entertain the idea of breaking all of my rules again. I had broken so many already, and I had suffered the consequences.

It took me a few minutes to think somewhat clearly again, at least enough to notice that Bella was shivering violently in my chair. So I reached behind my desk and pulled out a spare set of scrubs, and her face brightened infinitesimally as I handed them to her.

Fuck, I missed her. Not just the memory of her, or the image of her, but this very physical part of her. And the longer she stayed here, the worse it was going to get. I couldn't take much more of this—she would have to say whatever she came here to say, and I would have to take her to the airport, or the bus, or wherever the hell she had to go, as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately, that plan disintegrated completely when I noticed the redness on her arms, coloring her skin like a mild windburn. I had no choice but to touch her, to feel the texture of the little red bumps that covered the lengths of her forearms. She tensed at the contact, but I would have done the same if someone had touched me unexpectedly. I couldn't have myself believing it was anything more than that.

As I ran my fingers along her skin, every aspect of her case file—the labs, the charts, the radiology images—flashed in my consciousness like a home movie, its frames coming together in scattered, disordered pieces.

But they weren't disordered. They were finding their place, situating themselves along a very ordered timeline, so that I could finally see each piece of the puzzle as part of a larger whole. And in an instant, in a flash of blinding realization that felt like seconds and years all at once, I could see the whole picture. The answer—the single-most important answer that had eluded me for months—seared itself into my brain.

I could save her.

It would take a kidney biopsy to confirm, and while I abhorred the idea of poking and prodding Bella with several long, painful needles, it simply had to be done.

When she looked up, her face searching mine for answers, I wanted to tell her everything, to make her feel better, to give her some kind of peace that had escaped her for months, ever since that day she collapsed on a morning run through the park.

But I had to be sure. A few more hours, and I would be.

***

First, I had to survive an hour-long car ride with Bella sitting beside me, whose sweet, familiar scent was enough to make driving a real chore. But I couldn't think like that, not now, not ever again. I was her doctor, more than I ever had been, and I could finally give her what every patient deserved. And Bella deserved this, deserved to live a long, and healthy life, doing what she loved. If I could give her that, then nothing else mattered. I could give Bella her life back.

I opened the door to my silver Volvo, and she climbed in gingerly with a stoic expression on her face. I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of her in my scrubs, which completely swallowed her petite, slender frame. But at the same time, it was hot as hell to see her in my clothes again, especially with that perplexing little smirk on her face. But I said nothing, willing myself to make an uneventful trip to Port Angeles, without doing anything rash and stupid.

"Do you have an office in Port Angeles?" she asked, her soft, smooth voice breaking the silence.

"I see some patients up there," I said, keeping my eyes on the road. I managed to sneak a glance out of the corner of my eye, and I almost smiled at the sight of Bella clutching the door with white knuckles, as she always did in San Francisco. She never said anything, but I knew my propensity for speed made her nervous.

"I see," she said, and I could hear the tremble in her voice, the way her nerves betrayed her. "Are you happy here?"

If someone else, anyone else, had asked me that question an hour ago, I would have answered with an honest yes. I missed the city, but small-town life suited me in other ways. I knew and liked my patients, I found ways to fill my copious free time, and I had an odd affinity for the rain. I _was_ happy here.

But there was more, I knew. There was happiness, and there was something else. And sitting in this car, breathing in the faint scent of her hair and hearing her soft, sweet voice, I knew what happiness _could_ be.

"I can't complain," I said instead, and she seemed satisfied with that.

"I see you're dabbling in pediatrics," she said, turning toward me. I smiled because, fuck, she got me on that one.

"Kids aren't so bad," I admitted.

"What changed your mind?" she asked.

_You_, I wanted to say. _You changed my mind_.

"Kind of happened out of necessity," I lied.

I wanted to hear about her residency, her life in San Francisco, and every mundane detail of the last six months of her life. But at the same time, I simply couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't think about the people she talked to, worked with; in whatever way I had been replaced, I didn't want to know about it.

As she opened her mouth to say something else, I cursed the sound of my phone ringing on the console. I glanced down at the display, and saw Allison's name blinking in bright blue letters. I knew Bella had noticed, because she looked away too quickly, her face set in a stern, almost pained expression.

I debated letting it ring, but in Forks, I never let the phone just ring. There were only five people in this entire town who ever called me on my cell phone, although every one of my patients had the number. I assured them I would always answer, at any time of day or night, although few people really took advantage of that. Allison, of course, was a bit different.

"You can get that," Bella said finally, her voice suddenly tight in her throat.

So I picked it up grudgingly, cursing myself for keeping the volume so damn loud on this thing.

"Hey, Allison," I said, and even I could hear the strain in my voice.

"Oh, hey Edward. Are you still at the office?"

"No," I said, and I really just wanted this conversation to end. Bella was going to get the wrong idea about this, unless I cleared it up, which would sound obvious and unnecessary. My relationship with Allison didn't concern Bella in the least, although fuck, I had to say something. Didn't I?

"Oh," she said, and I instantly regretted my curt, unfriendly tone. I didn't intend to take my frustration out on Allison, but of course it would sound that way.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to get dinner," she said, and she sounded suddenly timid. "Angela and Ben are back in town, and they invited us."

"I can't tonight," I said, struggling to keep the strain out of my voice. I had to make this up to her, because Allison was a nice person, and she didn't deserve the way I led her on, just to disappoint her time and again. I wasn't sure how much longer I could dangle her in the 'friend zone' before she made a drunken move on me.

"This weekend, maybe?" I asked, desperate to get off the line.

"Okay," she said, pausing. "Is everything okay, Edward?"

"Yeah, fine," I said quickly. "I'm actually driving, so I can't really talk right now."

"Oh, okay." She hesitated again, and I prayed she would just let this go. But I couldn't hang up without sounding like a complete prick.

"Well, then, I guess I'll go. Have a good night."

"You, too," I said, relief washing over me. But it was replaced with a sudden wave of frustration that pulsed through me when I glanced over at Bella, who was angled so sharply toward the window that I couldn't even see her face.

I let a long, awkward silence fill the car for several minutes, and Bella sat unmoving in her seat, avoiding any and all eye contact with me. I needed to fucking fix this. Now.

"That was Allison Weber, a nurse in my office," I explained, but I could hear the edge in my voice.

"Mmhm," she said, not moving a muscle.

"We went to the same high school, actually."

"I see."

Fuck, I was making this worse. A thousand times worse. Best to get out now, before I could do any more damage.

"Anyway, I apologize for interrupting our conversation. I always answer the phone here, in case it's an emergency—"

"It's okay," she said, her tone clipped. I thought I could hear something else in her voice, something more subdued than anger, softer than annoyance. It sounded almost like hurt.

***

We rode the rest of the way in silence, which proved to be a painful test of my resolve. The rain was still falling heavily when we reached Port Angeles, although the night sky obscured the gloom. Bella climbed out of the car hurriedly, probably anxious to escape the tension simmering between us. I felt annoyed by the whole Allison debacle, mostly because I could have avoided it.

I greeted the familiar staff at the reception desk, who directed me to an empty procedure room. Kidney biopsies were not terribly invasive, but it would require a local anesthetic, and bleeding was always a risk.

I let Bella change into a gown and get settled while I hunted down the necessary instruments, and when I came back into the room, she was lying on her stomach, barely exposing the bare skin of her back. She had her arms folded under her chin, and she crooked her neck toward me, her expression unexpectedly serene.

"Are you taking any blood thinners, Bella?"

"No," she said, while I flipped through a copy of her case file I had brought along with me.

"Any over the counter medications?"

"No."

I wasn't looking forward to the next question, but it had to be asked.

"Is there any chance you might be pregnant?"

"Um…," she said, and I felt my breath hitch embarrassingly in my throat. "No, don't think so."

I could've been wrong, but this sounded a hell of a lot like payback for that Allison Weber phone call.

"No, or don't think so?" I asked again.

"No, I'm not," she huffed. She looked slightly flustered, and a light pink blush colored her cheeks. Jeezus, I missed that.

"Is this list of your medications accurate?" I continued.

She looked at the page in her chart and nodded, which ended the round of questioning. I pulled the gown aside to expose the injection site, and she tensed at the sudden chill of the air on her skin. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, and I realized I hadn't even asked her if she wanted to be sedated.

"Do you want a sedative?" I asked, feeling like a callous asshole for my oversight.

"No," she said. "I'm fine."

I waited a few minutes for the local anesthetic to take effect, while she lay silently on the exam table. I hated the thought of causing her pain, but I didn't want some other goon sticking foot-long needles into Bella's back.

"Are you okay?" I asked, once I was sure the area was numb.

She nodded, and I picked up the syringe.

"All right, take a deep breath and hold it. You'll feel some pressure, and probably a little bit of pain for a few seconds."

She did the best she could, although I could see her whole body tense as the needle went in, puncturing the flawless skin in her back. I just wanted to finish this as quickly as possible, but I knew I couldn't rush. If anything ever went wrong…

Ten minutes and several injection sites later, the ordeal was over. Bella lay still on her stomach, her breathing deep and even, while I bandaged the site and replaced the gown over her skin.

"It's over, Bella," I said, breathing a sigh of relief larger than hers. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been punctured," she said.

"Really?" I looked at her in horror, thinking that maybe the local anesthetic hadn't worked. Maybe Bella had felt the whole thing, and just endured the pain. I would fucking kill myself if that were true.

"Calm down, Edward," she said, the tiniest smile on her lips. "I feel fine."

As my breathing returned to normal, and the blood returned to my face, I exhaled sharply with relief.

"Jeezus, Bella. You had me worried for a second."

"I'm sorry," she said, her expression serious. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"It's okay," I said, and it took everything in my power to keep from touching her, comforting her, because I had seen how patients usually reacted to biopsies, and I knew it was no walk in the park. "You must just have a freakishly high pain threshold."

"Maybe," she agreed. She tried to maneuver herself into a sitting position, but she winced in pain. Again, I wanted to reach out to her, but again, I held back.

"Lie still, Bella. There's no rush here."

"I don't like being on my stomach," she protested. It was true; Bella never stayed in one position very long. She tossed and turned and thrashed all night, unless I stroked her back gently and gathered her into my arms. Once I had realized that, she slept like the dead.

"Eventually I want you to lie on your back, but just give it a few minutes, all right? I'm going to take these down to the lab, and talk with the pathologist."

"How long will it take?" she asked, her voice rising in expectation.

"Usually a few days, but since I'm doing it myself…hopefully a few hours."

"Okay," she said softly, resting her head on her arms. "Will you come back?"

"Of course," I said, mesmerized by her soft, feminine frame, even in an unwieldy hospital gown. Her long chestnut hair lay on her back and fell over her shoulders, framing her perfect face. This was, in so many ways, pure torture and ecstasy all at once.

"I'm going to take a little rest," she said drowsily, and I pulled the sheets up to her shoulders, while her breathing fell immediately into the slow, steady rhythm of sleep.

***

When I assembled the samples and located the lab in the basement, I found a spare work station and started fixing the slides. I already knew what I would find, and I wished, for the thousandth time, that I had done this test months ago. But there had been no reason to do it then—no signs of renal injury, not even a slightly elevated creatinine or electrolyte levels. Now, so many months later, I hoped it wasn't too late.

I placed the first of the slides on the scope, my fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. I adjusted the light, focused the lens, and there it was. The images spoke to me like words on a page, every one of my suspicions confirmed. And I wasn't relieved, or excited, or euphoric, because the biopsy wasn't normal. And an abnormal biopsy was never a reason for celebration.

But at least I had a diagnosis. And that was always better than fumbling around in the dark, attempting to treat an unknown disease. Now, at least, I knew what path Bella was on; I just had to do something about it.

I walked briskly up the stairs and through the tiny hospital, and I found Bella in her room, sleeping peacefully on her back. Her head was resting lightly on her shoulder, and I couldn't bring myself to disturb her. So I just sat in the chair by the window, watching the rain fall as night slipped into morning, and the first rays of dawn broke my silent, tortured reverie…

"Edward?"

Her voice was so breathless, so slight, that I thought I had fallen asleep in my chair, dreaming of Bella for the thousandth time, and waking up to nothing. Even now, in this hospital room, I expected her to just disappear.

"I'm here," I said, my voice barely rising above the assault of the rain on the windows. Her eyes fluttered open, and she exhaled a short, shaky breath.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?" I asked.

"For not giving up. I don't deserve it."

"I don't give up on my patients, Bella. You're no exception to that."

She smiled sadly, her eyes burning with a dark, dazzling fire that provided a striking contrast to the smooth pallor of her skin.

"I have the results from the biopsy," I said finally. Her expression didn't change; she simply inhaled deeply, calmly, and met my eyes with an intent, unwavering stare.

"All right."

"It's lupus," I said, sparing her any suspense.

I didn't expect her silent, stoic reaction. She simply kept her intense, fiery gaze on mine, willing me to continue.

"Systemic lupus erythematosus is the technical diagnosis," I said. "And the biopsy showed diffuse proliferative nephritis."

Finally she reacted, closing her eyes and releasing a long, slow sigh from her lungs. When she opened her eyes again, she looked off toward the window, searching for the city lights she knew so well, and finding an endless forest of pines instead. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing.

"I haven't seen lupus since medical school," she said, returning her gaze to me. "You'll have to refresh my memory, I'm afraid."

Why the fuck was this so hard? Lupus was a serious disease, and an incurable one, but manageable with the right treatment. Even so, Bella would have to live with a potentially life-threatening, chronic disease for the rest of her life. And I had to tell her that.

"It's auto-immune, systemic because it can affect every organ system. Your complement and anti-DNA tests should have come up positive, which is what threw me off initially. But the renal biopsy is definitive—I could see the glomerular damage, and it makes sense given your other symptoms. I'm going to run the antibody tests again, to see if there has been a change over the last six months."

"And the other symptoms? The fatigue, tremors…even the stroke?"

"Your DNA is attacking itself, Bella. Something as systemic as lupus can affect anything and everything—it varies from person to person."

"And the pruritis clued you in to lupus?"

"It's a manifestation of early renal disease, and it sounds like you had the butterfly rash as well. Once I realized that, the diagnosis was fairly straightforward."

"But my renal tests were always normal."

"It can happen, Bella. You're just…a bit of an anomaly."

"I suppose that's true," she sighed, and in that moment, she looked completely helpless, like a child awaiting her punishment. The one question she hadn't asked was burning on her lips, but like any patient in her position, a part of her didn't want to know.

"I think your prognosis is good," I said, and she looked up, her expression uncharacteristically blank in the faint morning light.

"How can it be?" she asked. "It sounds like I'm headed for kidney failure."

"It's manageable, Bella. We can treat the inflammation with steroids and immuno-suppressants, and you can live years without any symptoms at all."

"But there are risks," she argued.

"Mostly with pregnancy," I said, the last word catching slightly in my throat. I couldn't stand the thought of denying Bella motherhood; I would find a way to make it possible for her, even if it meant starting a goddamn lab and doing the research myself.

"I see," she said, her eyes glistening with tears. I finally had to look away, to find a distraction from the sea of emotions that played on her face. "Well, I'm not too worried about that at the moment."

"You can live a long and normal life, Bella," I reassured her, desperate to make this right, to give her the hope and optimism she deserved.

"I know," she said, and a small, but hopeful smile finally graced her lips. "Thank you, Edward."

"I should have caught it sooner," I argued.

"No," she said, her eyes burning with defiance. "You've given me my life back. What more could I possibly ask of you?"

Everything, I wanted to say. Ask me for everything, and I'd give it to you. But instead I said nothing, allowing the question to linger in the space between us.

"I guess I can go home now," she said finally, and I looked up to see her staring idly out the window, her face expressionless.

"When?"

"Today," she said. "I can't…I can't stay."

"I'd like you to rest for at least another twenty-four hours."

"Are you going home?" Her voice cracked on the last word, and she looked down.

"How are you getting back to San Francisco?" I asked, purposely avoiding her question, because I didn't want to deny her. But I had to.

"I'll take the bus to Seattle when I'm discharged."

"I'll drive you," I said, and she started shaking her head, as I knew she would.

"But it's at least two hours—"

"Don't be ridiculous, Bella. I'm working there on Friday anyway." That was true, although I would have driven her regardless of my schedule; I didn't want Bella riding that damn bus again.

"Okay," she relented, and her eyes drooped with fatigue. She lay back, her chest rising and falling with sleep that quickly overwhelmed her.

I sighed, and stood up to leave. Not because I wanted to hurt her, or because I had other places to be, other patients to see.

I left because I loved her still. And my broken heart couldn't fucking stand it.

***

**A/N**: I hope I didn't ruin anything with the chapter title...it's the telltale sign of lupus (that's why Edward asks about other rashes...he's thinking of this one in particular). So yes, I did have this diagnosis in mind from the very beginning, and if you google or wikipedia it, you'll find that all of the symptoms I mentioned are consistent with this auto-immune disease. In medicine, there is a running joke among doctors that if you can't figure out what something is, the default diagnosis is lupus. I think this has to do with the fact that this disease can cause just about anything, and it wreaks havoc on the body. We were discussing a case in class today, actually, and lupus came up as a possible diagnosis.

As Edward says, lupus causes the antibodies in your blood to attack your own DNA; since DNA is everywhere, the entire body can be affected. Edward might have caught this sooner if her anti-DNA test had been positive (which it is, 97% of the time in lupus patients), but it wasn't, so he started thinking other things. That's just how medicine goes sometimes. Lupus is historically very difficult to diagnose, because it presents with so many different symptoms. The renal/kidney effects can be devastating, and Bella has one of the more serious classes of lupus nephritis (also one of the more common). It's treatable, but a lot of people do have kidney failure later in life.

So what does this mean for Bella? Hmm. Just because she has a diagnosis, doesn't mean her problems are over...I have a lot in store for her yet.

Also, I wanted to comment on Edward's character, and the conflict in his thoughts and emotions. Of course he still loves her, but he's a stubborn guy, so...we'll see.

And to CallistoLexx, good work!

**Please review! Thanks!**


	28. Blackout

**A/N**: So this chapter is kind of a crossroads...I was thinking of ending it at Chapter 30 (ie. very soon) or taking it in another direction. I'd rather wrap it up sooner if I feel like people are going to lose interest, but I'm also happy to continue it (with a major plot twist in mind). If you guys have an opinion, please be honest and let me know!!

Bella will have her chance to say everything...I promise. And there will of course be an HEA - it's just a matter of when...hmm.

Thank you for reading and for all your comments!

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Twilight.

***

**Chapter 28: Blackout  
**

**BPOV**

I woke up to a weak grey light and softly-falling rain, the gloom from outside permeating the sterile air of the room. I felt disoriented, surrounded by the sights and sounds of a different place, but everything came back to me when my eyes found the chair in the corner. It was Edward's chair, its edges worn from years of use by those keeping a vigil over their loved ones. And it was empty.

I wondered if I had simply dreamed our conversation, but the memory of his eyes burning into mine, and the liquid velvet of his voice, was too vivid too be a dream. He was here, just a few hours ago, and now he was gone. Like the first time we met almost a year ago, when we were merely strangers.

And we were strangers now.

I had planned to tell him everything—intended to come up here like a heroine in a cheesy chick flick, barge into his office in a flurry of romance, and beg him for forgiveness. But it didn't happen that way, and now, I didn't feel like it ever could. I _was_ too late, and this was my punishment.

I lost my first opportunity when he noticed the rash on my arm, something I had ignored for weeks. It seemed completely insignificant compared to the hand tremors, which felt like a harbinger of death. But Edward had an eye for things that most people didn't see, a gift for recognizing the significance in insignificant things.

Even so, I should have said something then. But as soon as his fingers touched my skin, that familiar pulse of electricity coursed through me, igniting every cell in my body for the first time in six months. It was like an awakening, pure and sensual and absolutely divine. And I couldn't think about anything else after that, at least not until he took a few steps back so I could breathe again.

So I stalled. I read the intensity in his eyes, the way they blazed with sudden realization, and again I lost my train of thought. And when I heard him say Port Angeles, I figured I could use the car ride to collect my thoughts and tell him everything, without the distractions of the exam tables that elicited so many memories.

I wasn't sure what I planned to say. All my thoughts had become a jumbled, disoriented mess, and I knew I'd probably screw it up, no matter what I said. But I intended to try, as soon as I calmed my nerves and felt that the time was right…

And then Edward's phone rang, and everything shifted. I glanced instinctively at the display, not because I wanted to see who was calling, but because I couldn't look away. I was rewarded by her name flashing obnoxiously on the display, as if to say, stay the fuck away because you lost your chance, and Edward deserves someone better.

I reacted childishly, but I didn't care. How could I do anything else when my face was on fire and I could taste bile in my throat? I had to look away, had to pretend that Edward didn't exist and I wasn't such a bitter, pathetic fool for thinking that this stunningly beautiful man would actually stay single forever.

I couldn't bring myself to say anything for the rest of the ride, and I was almost grateful for the searing pain of those monstrous needles. I refused a sedative because I wanted to feel something other than crushing defeat; I wanted to feel alive again, like I had for the first few seconds I saw Edward, before I realized that he wasn't mine anymore. He was Edward Cullen, the small-town doctor, and I was his patient, albeit one who had traveled a thousand miles to see him.

I didn't remember much of our early-morning conversation, aside from the word that would shadow me for the rest of my life. I had heard of lupus, had seen it in medical school, and I knew that it struck mostly young, healthy women, for no apparent reason. But Edward said I could live a long and healthy life, doing what I loved. And wasn't that all that mattered?

I had to accept that it was. I didn't have a choice—I simply had to move on. A year ago, I was perfectly content living my life in San Francisco, working long hours at the General, seeing my little patients and making them feel better. I could have that again. I would find a way to have that again.

I had to start by looking at that empty chair and not breaking down into a thousand pieces. I swallowed hard, forced myself to pull it together, and dangled my feet over the edge of the bed. I needed to get out of this room, even if it meant sitting in the cafeteria for the rest of the day.

I stood up with a groan, which was interrupted by the entrance of a tall, striking man with silvery blond hair and a vaguely familiar expression. He looked at me with wide eyes as I scrambled back into bed, and I waited for a scolding.

"Dr. Swan?" he asked, and I sat back down immediately. I felt like a kid caught trying to escape the sandbox.

"Bella," I said. "Please call me Bella."

"You are a doctor, though, right?"

"Yes," I said. His eyes were a fiery green, rivaled in intensity by only one other person I knew.

"Well, I've come to check up on you."

I looked up, my eyes wide with confusion. I didn't recognize him, but I felt like I should.

"Okay," I said.

"How do you know Edward?" he asked, and I felt my chest tighten in surprise. Just hearing his name made my overactive heart skip a few beats.

"Um…well, I was a patient of his in San Francisco."

"And?"

"Pardon me?" I asked, confused but also intimidated by this older man whose severe expression contrasted with his warm green eyes.

"You're the first patient of Edward's to follow him here," he said, and by the tone of his voice, I could tell he expected me to explain myself.

"It's complicated," I sighed.

"Well, I'm glad to meet the reason."

"The reason?"

"Edward doesn't go _to_ places—he leaves them. And there's always a reason."

I shook my head, more in shame than denial.

"He's the most stubborn, hard-willed man I've ever met," he continued. "And he probably got it from me, so I would know. You must be very important to him."

"I don't know," I said softly.

"I'm not here to lecture you, Dr. Swan. I apologize if I've made you uncomfortable."

"No, it's okay," I mumbled, and when I looked up again into his striking emerald eyes, a sudden realization swept over me. "You're Edward's father."

"Yes," he said. "I'm the elder Dr. Cullen."

I thought I saw a trace of a smile on his face, but I couldn't be sure.

"Did you know my father?" I asked, because for some reason, I had a feeling he knew who I was before he even came into the room.

"I did. I'm sorry about what happened."

"Me too," I sighed. "Although I barely knew him."

"That's unfortunate," he said, not to make me feel worse, but because this man was infallibly blunt. "He was a good man, who really cared about this town."

"I know. I wish I had realized that before he died."

A heavy silence permeated the space between us, but Dr. Cullen seemed to appreciate wordless exchanges, as though every conversation could benefit from some time for introspection. He probably practiced medicine this way, using the breaks and silences to think when others simply acted. And I could see, more clearly than ever, why Edward was the man he was.

"Is Edward treating you for Charlie's condition?" he asked finally, his tone empathetic but professional.

"No," I said softly. "I'm not a carrier."

"Ah. Well, pardon me for saying so, but you seem awfully depressed for someone who dodged a bullet."

I smiled sadly, because of course he was right, I should be celebrating every second for the rest of my life that I had avoided Charlie's fate. I needed to snap the hell out of it.

"It's just been a long few months," I explained, and he waited with a patient, expectant silence. "I was having all these symptoms, and the tests all came back normal…and then yesterday, Edward just kind of figured out what it was."

"That sounds like him. Edward and his light-bulb moments."

"He's an incredible doctor," I said.

"It takes more than a brilliant mind to be a good doctor," he countered. "But he's making progress."

"In what way?" I thought of the toddler running through the halls of Edward's office, the late hours he held for patients, the phone he always answered. I wondered if, in these seemingly subtle ways, Edward truly had changed.

"Things they don't teach you in medical school," he said. "Things you learn from people, not books."

I nodded, because as a doctor, I understood. I practiced medicine because of people, for people. And I learned from them each and every day, from the experience in their faces and the trust in their eyes. Every patient had a story to tell, and I listened to every one of them, because I owed them that much.

"Are you worried I've come to steal him back?" I asked suddenly, and despite every effort I made to sound light-hearted, I could hear the sadness in my voice.

"It's not stealing," he said, his green eyes blazing, as though it were Edward standing in front of me, "if he wants to go with you."

***

I didn't see Edward for the rest of the day, and I fell into a fitful sleep right after dinner, still exhausted from the last few days. I didn't know when Edward would return—didn't know if he would come at all, really, and a part of me couldn't stand the thought of seeing him again. I would rather leave him now, without any good-bye, than suffer through it at the airport. That thought alone ruined any chance for a restful night's sleep.

The sky was still dark when I heard footsteps outside my door, followed by the slow creaking of the hinges. I peeked through my eyelids to see Edward leaning against the wall, his head down, my chart in his hands. He was breathing slowly, steadily, and he looked like a fixture on the wall, completely immobile and stunningly statuesque.

"I know you're awake, Bella," he said, and I jerked so violently with surprise that I nearly fell off the bed.

"How?" I croaked.

"I just know," he said, and I could feel my cheeks burning. I knew I talked in my sleep; a silent Bella meant a conscious Bella.

"Well, you got me," I huffed. "I can't sleep."

"Why not?" he asked, and his slow steps toward the bed made my heart race in my chest. Those fucking heart monitors were going to give me away…

Too late. Oh well.

"I hate hospitals," I grumbled.

"But you work in one."

"I like standing over the bed, not lying in it."

My face flushed a brighter shade of red as the words came out, as I pictured myself lying in a different kind of bed, with Edward standing over me. But he wasn't thinking that—not anymore—so I had to push it out of my mind.

"I see," he said. "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"

My heart tried to manipulate the tone of his voice, but my brain resisted. His stoic professionalism unnerved me, and before I could do something impulsive and pathetic, I decided I needed to get as far away from here as humanly possible.

"Can we leave now?" I asked, and I heard his breath catch. At least I could still surprise him.

"Leave?"

"For the airport. I want to go now."

"I'm not sure—"

"I'm dressed and ready, Edward. I really just want to go, so I can be home by this afternoon."

"All right," he said, and I was almost disappointed by the way he so casually, and so quickly, agreed. I wanted him to argue, to find a reason to keep me here. I wanted him to ask me to stay.

But he did not, and of course he would not, so I swung my feet over the mattress and climbed out of the cold, hard bed. I handed him his pair of scrubs, and he tucked them under his arm without a word.

"I'll pull the car up front. Can you wait here?" he asked.

"Sure," I mumbled. The rain was coming down in sheets, and I didn't think I could endure sitting in an airplane soaking wet for two hours. So I just sighed in defeat, and let him go.

I almost didn't notice the buzzing in my pocket, which shook me from my sleep-induced haze. I pulled my phone out and blinked twice to read the display, which shocked and kind of alarmed me.

"Rosalie?" I answered groggily. "What are you doing up at this hour? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," she said, and she sounded oddly coherent for this hour of the morning, which could only mean one thing. And I sure as hell did not want to think about that.

"Then what's up?" I asked.

"What do you think?! I tried calling you like a hundred times! For godssakes, Bella, you go to Washington to get your man back and don't even tell me?!" she roared.

"Rosalie," I said, my voice hushed. "It's not like that. I'm not getting anyone back."

"So you traveled 1,000 miles to do what? Slip some love notes under his door and wait for the magic to happen?"

When Rosalie cracked jokes, it meant she was actually livid. And this time, I deserved every bit of her wrath. I had come here with a purpose, and so far, I had failed to accomplish anything even remotely related to that purpose.

"No," I stammered. "It doesn't matter anymore—"

"Fuck that, Bella. Don't make excuses for your mistakes."

"I'm not," I said weakly.

"Tell him the truth. You owe him that much."

"But he's with someone else now, Rosalie. And he has a life here, and a practice…I just don't matter anymore."

I felt my voice crack, and for once, I simply didn't care. Rosalie inhaled deeply, and I waited for her to agree with me.

"So?" she asked.

I hesitated, because her response didn't make sense.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I'm saying, so what? Who gives a shit about all that? He loves you, Bella. He has always loved you—are you stupid, or blind, or what?"

"Even if that were true—"

"Bella, I've seen you two. You fucking belong together. And I can't really explain it—I can't give you some kind of medical or psychological or weird-ass technical explanation for it, but when I see the two of you together, it just makes sense."

"Then why didn't you tell me he left, Rose?" I couldn't blame Rosalie for this, but I had to at least ask. If she had told me six months ago, if she had given me some indication that Edward had left because of me, I might have done things differently...

"You told me not to talk about him. Ever. You told me to act as though he never existed." She was right, of course, but I still cringed at the harsh truth in her words.

"I thought it would be easier that way," I confessed. "I was wrong."

"If you don't stop feeling sorry for yourself right now, and ditch your own pity party, I swear, Bella…I'm going to do something drastic."

I sighed deeply into the phone, and even though my hands were shaking and tears were filling my eyes, I suddenly felt empowered. I had to put it all on the line, even if it meant losing everything.

"I'll tell him, Rosalie. I'll tell him right now."

"Don't bullshit me—"

"I'm done with the fucking bullshit," I fumed, and I could almost picture her smiling in triumph on the other end of the line.

"You're welcome," she said.

"Thanks, Rose."

"You're welcome again. I only yell at you because I love you, you know."

"I know," I sighed. I looked up and saw Edward walking toward the front doors, his hair a wet, tortured bronze in the early morning light. "I have to go."

"Call me tonight," she said.

"I will."

I took a few steps to the front door and waited for Edward to meet me, his eyes a piercing, unreadable green. He opened the passenger door and I climbed in, relishing the scent of his car, which smelled of newness and him and the fresh, wet air. He said nothing as he sat beside me and revved the engine of his silver Volvo, its tires spinning furiously on the slick pavement. I gripped the door handle so hard that I felt my joints crack, and I waited for the car to stop accelerating so I could make good on my promise to Rosalie, and to him.

I would tell him everything. No more excuses.

"Edward," I said, after a minute of flying down the dark roads, its wet surfaces glistening in the pale light of dawn.

He turned toward me and said nothing, and I knew by looking at him that I had his full, undivided attention. I took a deep breath and eased my fingers off the handle, and placed them in my lap.

"I came here to talk to you, Edward. To tell you the truth."

He cleared his throat, his eyes fixed now on the road ahead. Hints of strain formed little creases around his eyes, and I waited for him to say something. But again he chose silence, and I had no choice but to keep talking; if he wanted me to stop, he would have to say so.

"I don't know where to start, so…I'll start at the beginning. I'll start with the day we met."

_The day I fell in love with you_, I thought. _The day I loved you and hated you, in maddening combination._

"Bella…"

I heard the two syllables on his lips, slipping into the air like a sweet, sorrowful whisper. It sounded like music, and heaven, and love, and in that instant, with just one word, I felt like I had been put on this Earth to hear Edward Cullen speak my name. And it was such an impossibly, inhumanly beautiful sound, that it overpowered the sudden cacophony of crushing metal that filled the air around me.

And it was that sound, the sound of my name on Edward's lips, that followed me into nothingness.

***

**I killed them off and they're together in heaven! No, that would suck. But something bad did just happen...**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing! Your feedback is my greatest motivator!! :)  
**


	29. Atelectasis

**A/N**: I got a lot of great replies about continuing, etc. Thanks for your input!

So this chapter is intense, and I'm sorry for that...but I promise you will be rewarded very soon. I want E/B together as badly as everyone here...and I can't hold out much longer.

As for continuing the story, I've written Chapter 30, and I'm deciding now whether to continue (will only do so if it fits with the storyline, has tension, etc.). If I don't, I'll consider a sequel.

Thanks for reading!!

***

**Chapter 29: Atelectasis  
**

**EPOV**

The only sound was the dull thud of the rain falling on my chest, soaking my shirt and warming the skin underneath. It was thick, hot, and sluggish, more like maple syrup than the crisp rains of Northern Washington. But I welcomed it, because the air on my face was cool and damp, and the night was blacker than a dreamless sleep. I couldn't see anything, couldn't feel anything, except the rain. It seemed appropriate, in a place like this, to dream of nothing but the rain.

But if I was really dreaming, it was a weird fucking dream. I couldn't move my legs; I couldn't even open my eyes. And I could perceive a strange haze in my head, circling the periphery of my thoughts, like a thick, muddled fog.

And then I felt it. Fear. Unexpected, raw, and very real.

This wasn't a fucking dream. And my shirt wasn't soaked with the cold rain; it was drenched with hot, viscous blood, gurgling from my chest and legs and throat and fuck, fuck, fuck. I was bleeding to death, frozen in some kind of crippling semiconscious state, dangerously detached from everything.

And where…how…why….

Bella.

No. _No_.

I tried to turn my head, tried to open my eyes and fucking find her. Tried to speak, or move, or just do something. But I could feel the salty taste of blood on my tongue, and it was then that I realized I couldn't breathe. I was suffocating on my own blood.

"Edward. Edward!"

Her voice sounded like it had come from a thousand, a million miles away, but it was hers. It was hers and it was real and it was alive, very much alive. I wanted to hug the shit out of her and never let her go, but of course I couldn't move. So I had to settle for this tiny corner of lucidity in my brain, this fading snapshot of consciousness that told me she was all right.

"Oh my God," she said, each word punctuated by a broken, choking sob. "_Oh my fucking God_."

Fuck, I was slipping fast. Her voice was so far away, more like a dream now than reality. At least I could feel her hands on me, tugging on the shredded seatbelt, fumbling with the broken glass as she brushed it aside. I couldn't feel my own body, but I could feel hers—her soft, delicate hands, her frantic breaths on my face.

"I'm getting you out, Edward. Can you hear me? Can you move?" she asked.

I could smell something else now, the thick, distinctive scent of gasoline. I pushed the encroaching haze from my thoughts, and willed myself to think.

Get the fuck out of here, Bella. Just go.

But nothing came out. Just the sound of air rattling in my throat.

"Please," she said, like a prayer on her lips. "Please, Edward."

I felt her fingers on my forehead, lingering there while my skin warmed under her fingers. Like the first time I touched her, like a current passing between us…

"Try, Edward. If you can hear me, try to move…I can't do this myself…"

But I couldn't fucking move. For all I knew, my legs were no longer attached to my body. I couldn't feel them, and I sure as fuck couldn't move them.

"Use your arms. Please, Edward. Please!"

She had her arms under mine, her little hands wrapped around my chest, pulling me backwards. Her breathing was coming in quick, desperate gasps, her tears landing with a soft, constant trickle on my shoulder.

And I knew, as I had known six months ago, and knew now, that I couldn't deny her anything. Even this.

I don't know how the hell it happened, but I gave a hard shove with my hands against the seat and shifted the both of us halfway out of the car. Bella did the rest of the work, yanking me out of the rubble as we tumbled onto the wet grass. We slid along the gentle slope of the shoulder, coming to rest beneath a tree, or some other hard thing that I couldn't physically see. I couldn't see shit; I couldn't open my eyes, I couldn't see anything except for the white haze behind my eyes…

"They're coming, Edward. They're coming, I promise…just hold on."

I felt her wet cheek on my chest, her fingers palpating the veins in my neck. A curse escaped her lips, and I wanted to tell her that I couldn't breathe, that my chest felt empty, but she was a doctor and she already knew that.

"Breathe, Edward," she muttered, and I could hear her digging through her pockets, searching for something to use.

I don't know what the hell she came up with, but she pressed it against my chest, sealing the edges while the blood gurgled around her fingers.

"Come on," she pleaded, her voice a desperate whisper.

And then, suddenly: air. I breathed in with a deep, gurgling whoosh, and I could feel my lungs inflate, like a balloon at a party store.

She kept her hands on my chest, protecting the air in my lungs. I could hear her quietly crying, feel her body trembling as the cold rain fell, mixing with the tears on her cheeks and my blood on her fingers. And when she spoke, the words tumbled out in a breathless, frantic rush, her voice thick with tears.

"I love you, Edward. I've loved you since the day we met, since that first miserable morning in the E.R., when you came in and gave me a hard time about my career choice. I loved you when you went to that shithole strip club, and saved me from that leech, and saved Rosalie, too. And I loved you when you stayed with me in the hospital, never leaving my side, swearing to me with every cell in your body that you would fix me, and you did."

Again I tried to answer her, wanted to see her face, dry her tears, tell her she didn't have to explain anything to me. Again I couldn't do anything but listen.

"I'm so, so sorry, Edward, for what I've done. Sorry for telling you the worst lie I could possibly have told, sorry for forcing you out of my life because of my selfish, misguided agenda. The Huntington's test wasn't even positive—it was negative, Edward. I should have trusted you…should have known…I was wrong. I was so very wrong, and I'm sorry."

The haze had morphed into a thick, blinding light, and her voice was nothing but a soft echo in my mind. If this was it, if this was heaven, then fuck, I must have done something right. I could listen to this voice until the end of time.

I had seen it a thousand times, a thousand different ways, young and old and sick and healthy. I had seen it in the dead of night, or at the height of rush hour; had watched it happen on quiet Sunday afternoons and Christmas mornings.

And each of those times, when I looked at a life slipping away, on its way to something I couldn't touch or feel or see, I wondered how bitter its victim must feel. How angry, and alone, and scared shitless every one of them must have felt on the brink of such a terrible unknown.

I was wrong. Dying was the easiest fucking thing I had ever done.

But I couldn't let go just yet…I knew, somewhere, somehow, that I had to say something, had to answer this soft, divine music filling my ears. I had to answer, because soon, so very soon, it would be too late. Her apology, her honesty, her love found its way into my consciousness, awakening the voice in my throat, thick with blood and air and death.

"I know," I said.

I had always known.

***

**THE END! No, oh god no. I wouldn't do that. That would suck.**

**Atelectasis = collapsed lung  
**

**Please review! Thanks!  
**


	30. Sensory Response

**A/N**: I wasn't going to post this chapter (I wrote two versions of Chapter 30), but it kind of works if I post both, since they don't take place at the same time. This one indulges my med student self, and I used a journal article in Nature as a basis for Edward's injuries. Then I had a long discussion about it with another med student, and I realized how nerdy I am.

I also struggle with Edward being so vulnerable, because despite the fact that this is an all-human story (and I've obviously manipulated Edward's character in all sorts of ways), I still see him as the strong one. So this chapter was hard for me to write.

The next chapter will be very different in tone (as in, much more fun to write). And as for the length of this story, I have figured it out. You'll know when it happens - there will be a big **THE END** at the end of the chapter. ;)

Thanks for reading!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Twilight.

***

**Chapter 30: Sensory Response**

**BPOV**

"Edward!" I cried, but it came out as a weak, choked whimper.

He hadn't opened his eyes, hadn't moved, but I heard those two words and I knew he had heard me. Even I could barely understand my words as they had tumbled out in such a chaotic, hysterical rush, but at least Edward knew. At least my confession, six months too late, hadn't fallen on deaf, unconscious ears.

But it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough, to tell Edward all I should have said months ago, just to watch him his heart stop beneath my hands. My arms felt cramped and stiff and heavy, but I felt like if I let go, if I relaxed even the slightest bit, he would die and it would be my fault.

So I engineered every bone in my body to keep my arms in place, praying it would be enough, willing the ambulance to get here. I finally heard the sirens in the distance, their low wail increasing with each passing second, and I waited. I couldn't do anything but wait. And I refused to wait for Edward to die.

"They're here, Edward," I whispered, and I could hear the screech of the ambulance tires followed by the loud calls of the paramedics. I cried out weakly to them, but somehow it was enough, and in seconds they were sitting beside me, prying my hands off Edward's chest.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" one of them asked me.

I nodded absently, but all I could think about was the blood. So much blood. His blood. I had gone through medical school, rotated in the Emergency Room at a major trauma center, spent two years in residency, and none of it prepared me for what I saw when I woke up and found Edward slumped over the steering wheel, surrounded by broken glass. And even here, all I could see was a sea of bright crimson, staining the wet grass beneath us.

How could anyone possibly survive this?

"We need to take you to the hospital, ma'am," he said again. "You have some lacerations, and it looks like your arm may be broken—"

"No!" I croaked, my voice like fire in my throat. He recoiled slightly at the tone in my voice, and the searing demand in my eyes. His expression softened, and he looked away.

"I'm riding with you," I said.

"We have to airlift him to UW—"

"Fine," I said. "But I'm going with you."

He finally nodded, leaving me standing in the rain while the other paramedics loaded him onto the stretcher. I climbed into the back of the ambulance, and took a seat beside Edward, whose face was hardly recognizable beneath the mask and tubes and blood.

"Did you do this?" someone asked me, glancing down at the remnants of a Ziplock bag I had sprawled over the gashes in his chest.

I nodded, ashamed by the whole mess of it.

"You saved his life," he said.

I shook my head. "I'm a doctor. I did what any medically-trained professional would have done."

"Doesn't matter who you are. He would have died on the scene."

"And now?" I asked, my eyes burning with tears, my voice shaking with rage and hope and despair.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "He's lost a tremendous amount of blood. And it looks like he has a spinal injury."

"I shouldn't have moved him—"

"You had to. Look at it now."

I glanced out the back window, so I could see the wreckage behind us. The car had exploded into a blazing inferno, tempered only by the steady fall of the rain. The sight faded into the distance as the ambulance lurched forward, its tires screeching in the still, eerie night. Outside, the rain fell slowly, steadily, on its own unhurried schedule. Inside, time was running out.

***

It took only a few minutes to get to Port Angeles Hospital, where a helicopter was waiting to take us to Seattle. Again I resisted treatment, and again I finagled my way onto the helicopter. It was a short, tense flight, and Edward never opened his eyes. But I spoke to him anyway, because I wanted to believe that he could hear me.

When we landed on the roof of the main medical center at UW, I held back while the trauma team maneuvered him off the helicopter. Someone, somehow, found me standing in the rain, dazed and lost and helpless. She took me by the arm and led me out of the cold, down to the emergency department, and put me in a room.

"I'm Emily," she said, while she assembled a tray of medical supplies. "I'm an intern here. Can I ask you what your name is?"

I could barely find the strength to lift my head, but if I didn't talk to her, she would just keep me in this room all night. And I knew that as soon as I convinced her I was perfectly fine, I could find Edward.

"I'm Bella Swan," I said. "Do you know where they took the patient in the helicopter?"

"He's just down the hall. Don't worry, Bella. He's in excellent hands."

"Is he all right?" I asked, mimicking the question I had heard a thousand times on my own wards. It was the only question that really mattered.

"They're doing the best they can."

I nodded, allowing the cruel reality of the situation to hang heavily in the air.

"I need to examine you, Bella," she said. "You were in a very serious crash."

"There was another driver..." I said, vaguely remembering the impact. "What happened to him?"

"I don't know," she said. "I can find out and let you know. I'd really like to make sure you're okay first, though."

I nodded again, and she waited while I changed gingerly into a gown. I hadn't realized how terribly sore I was—similar to the way I felt the day after a marathon. I grimaced when I moved my arm into the sleeve, and Emily stopped me, a grim expression on her face.

"Your arm is clearly broken, Bella. You should have been transported by ambulance—"

"I'm okay," I said, my voice gently pleading. "It's nothing."

She shook her head, while she immobilized my arm and tended to the large gash on my forehead. I hadn't noticed that either; and I might not have, aside from the trickles of blood on my white shirt.

"I'd like to do a CT scan, just to make sure you didn't suffer any internal injuries. It's not invasive, just a picture of your organs—"

"I know," I said. "I'm a doctor."

"Oh," she said. "Well that makes sense, given how horrible a patient you are."

Her voice was gently teasing, but I didn't even look up.

"Can you tell me where you feel pain?" she asked. "Aside from the obvious."

"Just some general soreness," I said.

"No headache, blurry vision, anything like that?"

"No."

"Abdominal pain?"

"No."

"Are you on any medications?"

"Yes, I'm on steroids and immuno-suppressants for lupus."

"Lupus? Well, that changes things," she said.

I groaned. I did not want to be here. Couldn't she see that?

"How long will all of these tests take?" I asked.

"Not long," she assured me. "But I think you should rest. I'll give you a sedative if you like—"

"No, I'm fine."

"Bella, listen to me. You can't do anything for him right now. If you have another injury we don't know about, it could put you in danger. I know you must understand that."

I sighed deeply, allowing her words to sink in. I had never, in all my life, felt so utterly and completely powerless. I always felt compassion for my patients, but from now on, I would feel even more for their loved ones, who could only wait and hope.

"Okay," I said. "But please let me know about Edward. Please tell me what happens…"

I couldn't finish the sentence.

***

Two hours later, an older doctor dressed in green scrubs and a white coat came into my room. He didn't smile, didn't speak; he just sat in the chair across from the bed, and let out a slow, deliberate breath.

No.

Please no.

This could not be happening. Not now, not to Edward, not like this.

"Dr. Swan, I'm Dr. Jenks. I'm the ED attending on call this morning."

I tried to breathe, but couldn't. He looked directly at me, his eyes a cool, piercing blue, and I waited.

"I treated Dr. Cullen when he came in. As you know, he sustained serious injuries in the accident, and his condition at admission was very grave."

He paused, removed his glasses and rested them on his lap. I could feel the tears brimming in my eyes, and I blinked hard to force them away.

"He lost a tremendous amount of blood, I'm afraid. We were able to transfuse him quickly and effectively to restore his blood pressure, but he was bleeding internally. He's in surgery right now."

I felt the air escape my lungs in a sudden rush, and I could hear the heart monitors beeping furiously behind me. It was as though this man, in just a few words, restored my heart's ability to beat.

"He's alive?" I rasped.

"Yes, he's alive. But his condition is critical."

"But he's alive. Can the surgeons stop the bleeding?"

"I'm optimistic that they can. But the hemorrhage is not his most serious problem."

Again he paused, and I wanted to reach over there and strangle him for keeping me in suspense like this. His voice sounded so ominous, so foreboding, that I almost didn't want to know what he was going to say.

"Please, Doctor," I begged. "Don't spare me any details."

"He has a spinal injury, Dr. Swan. He's most likely paralyzed. I'm sorry."

"_No_," I breathed. To Edward, paralysis would be a fate worse than death.

"Dr. Swan? Are you all right?"

"Yes," I said, forcing the sound from my throat. "Which vertebra was affected?"

"C7 and T4. It depends on the patient, but he will likely have use of his arms with limited dexterity in his hands and fingers. From the waist down, obviously, he will be completely paralyzed."

"You said most likely," I said, hope rising in my voice. "So there is a chance…there is a chance he won't be paralyzed. Right?"

"To be honest, Dr. Swan, I find it highly unlikely that he will recover—"

"How much is highly unlikely? He has a chance, though, doesn't he? He must have a _fucking_ _chance_," I snapped, the ire in my voice clashing with the tears streaming down my face.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"I want to talk to the spinal surgeon."

"It will be several hours—"

"Fine. Whenever. I don't care if I'm in a coma, just send him in here as soon as he gets out of surgery."

His hard stare finally wavered, and I knew I had won. If this doctor couldn't give me a shred of optimism, then I would find someone who could.

He stood up without a word and walked out.

***

Various doctors and nurses came and went throughout the day, but the sun was setting in a rare fiery glow before a surgeon walked through my door.

"Hi, Dr. Swan," he said, his eyes bright and warm. A small but genuine smile graced his face, and he sat on the far end of the bed while I mumbled a hello.

"I'm Dr. Ateara, one of the spinal surgeons here. I was told to come find you."

He didn't look much older than forty, but the confidence and experience in his voice told me otherwise. I trusted him immediately, and for the first time that day, I sighed with the knowledge that Edward was, indeed, in the best possible hands.

"How is Edward?" I asked, because I had waited all day and I needed the truth. Now.

"His injury is fairly complex. Do you want the short or long version?"

"Long," I said. "I want to know everything."

"All right. So on admission the neurologic examination revealed complete motor function loss from the level of C7, incomplete sensory loss from C7 to T3, and complete loss of both motor and sensory functions from the level of T4. Essentially, he fractured his spine in two places, but the spinal injury is incomplete at C7, and complete at T4."

"You may have to break this down for me," I said.

"We operated on both of the vertebrae—it's pretty technical, so I won't get into the details. But to put it simply, he may recover some function from the waist up, but it's highly unlikely he'll ever walk again."

His words jarred me, but I felt ready this time. I cleared my throat and asked the first of many questions I had prepared for this man who could most accurately predict Edward's future.

"Do all of you speak in such vague terms?"

"It's hard to give percentages," he said.

"Is there a chance he'll walk again?"

"Yes."

"Yes?" I looked at him with wide eyes, and he nodded.

"There is always a chance, Dr. Swan. Exceptionally unlikely, but there is always a chance."

"I work in absolutes, Doctor."

He managed a small smile, and shook his head. "The chance of recovering full motor and sensory function from a complete spinal injury is around 5 to 10 percent."

It was low, very low. Despairingly low, even.

But it wasn't zero.

"Thank you, Doctor," I said finally, forcing a smile. "You've given him a chance, at the very least."

"It will be a long recovery, Dr. Swan. Many patients struggle with the rehabilitation."

I nodded, trying to picture the next few months for Edward. I had seen patients with spinal cord injuries; I had seen some of them push themselves relentlessly to recover, I had seen others simply give up.

"Can I see him?" I asked.

***

I sat by Edward's side for three days straight, his only movement in the slow rise and fall of his chest. Carlisle had spent much of the time consulting with the doctors he knew here, researching the best options for rehabilitative care. He sometimes sat with me, usually in silence, while the machines hummed and whirred around us.

On the third day, sometime in the middle of the night, the alarm on the heart monitor woke me from a restless sleep. A team of people bustled into the room, and I stood up groggily, staying out of their way. And then I heard one of them speak, and I felt my world shift.

"He's waking up."

"Edward?" I said, hope coursing through my veins. I stood back while they removed the tubes and wires and everything else, so that he could actually say something. And when he did, I could only smile.

"Bella."

His voice was a throaty, raspy whisper, but it was still Edward's voice. Still beautiful and strong. Still Edward.

He said nothing while the medical team in the room reassembled all the wires and IV's, and I just sat beside him in silence. When they finally left, he turned toward me and managed a small, crooked smile.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," I replied, mesmerized by his beautiful face and those eyes, those searing emerald eyes, that I hadn't seen in days.

"You're okay," he said, and I nodded.

"I'm fine. Just a stupid broken arm."

"I think you pull off the sling quite well," he teased.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

I could feel the emotion bubbling in my throat, making my voice quiver. I hated the thought of crying right now, of letting him see how weak I really was. I swallowed hard, but I could feel myself losing control, as the gravity of the situation permeated the space between us.

"It looks like I haven't died," he said, trying to get a smile out of me. I managed a weak one, but it took considerable effort to put it there.

"I heard the doctors, Bella. I know what happened."

"You did? What did you hear?"

"I heard that you saved my life."

"I did what anyone would have done," I sighed.

"Bella—" he protested, but I stopped him.

"I was so afraid, Edward. When I woke up and saw you, and realized what was happening…"

"It's okay, Bella. We were lucky."

"I was lucky," I mumbled, fighting the tightening in my throat. "It's not fair, Edward. If I hadn't come here, if you hadn't been driving—"

"Don't," he ordered. His voice was steady and firm, despite the fact he hadn't used it in days.

I cleared my throat, allowed the tears to fall on the white bed sheets. Was there anything I could possibly say to fix this?

No, there was not.

"This wasn't your fucking fault, Bella. If you regret coming up here, then that's another story."

"I don't regret it," I whispered. "It was the first good decision I've made in six months."

He sighed, shook his head slowly. Everything I wanted to say seemed so trivial now, compared to all that had happened in the last few days, and all that lay ahead.

"What now, Edward?" I finally asked, after a long, strained silence.

"Now I get used to that thing over there," he answered, gesturing toward the wheelchair in the corner. But he didn't sound bitter or angry; his tone was completely devoid of emotion, which made my heart lurch in my chest. I brushed my wet cheeks with the back of my hand, forcing myself to meet Edward's gaze. I hoped, prayed, that he could hear the resolve in my voice.

"You'll walk again, Edward."

"I know the statistics, Bella. I work with statistics on a daily basis. I refuse to be unrealistic."

"It's not unrealistic to hope for a full recovery; it's been done—"

"Bella, listen to me. It's fine. I'll learn to accept this."

"To accept what? Edward, you can't just give up before you've even started."

"I'll do whatever these people tell me to do. Hell, it's not like I can practice medicine anymore, so I might as well spend it doing something productive. Rehab will at least occupy the time."

I cringed as he spoke, and despite his attempts to disguise his words with humor, I could hear the bitterness in his voice. His casual, easygoing tone startled me; it sounded like defeat. It sounded nothing like the Edward who had spent years treating the most difficult cases, pursuing answers where others had given up.

"You can't give up medicine," I argued.

"How can I practice medicine if I can't touch patients? How can I examine them, suture them, treat them? I can't do shit without my hands, Bella."

"You'll get it back," I said weakly. "In time."

"Maybe," he said. "But it won't be the same. The dexterity will be gone."

"It's happened before."

"I'm playing the odds, Bella. I'm being realistic."

"It sounds like you're giving up!" I cried. "You can't give up."

He sighed, averted his gaze toward the window, while my quiet sobs filled the room.

"I'm not leaving you, Edward. If that's what you're worried about—"

"Bella, no."

I swallowed hard, cleared my throat to get the words out. "I understand if…if you're with someone else now, and I'm not trying to get in the way of that—"

"With someone else?" he asked.

"Well, that woman on the phone," I stammered.

"Allison? Jeezus, I just work with her, Bella."

"Oh," I managed, a strange wave of relief washing through me. "Well, even so, I just…I came up here…"

"I know why you came."

He sighed, allowing the tension in the air to simmer before he spoke.

"I just…I just want to be there for you in whatever way you need me to be…" I could feel my cheeks burning a hot, furious red, but I couldn't stop now.

"You can't give up your residency and everything you've worked for because you feel sorry for me," he said.

"I don't feel sorry for you. I just want to be with you—"

"I'm not the same, Bella. I won't ever be the same."

"Don't do this to me because I did it to you," I said, my voice low and tremulous in my throat. "Don't punish me."

"Is that what you think this is?" he asked, searching my eyes with the first sign of hurt I had seen since he opened them.

"I don't know…" I mumbled weakly.

"Well, it's not, Bella. How could I possibly punish you? I don't have it in me," he sighed. "I just…I need time to adjust."

"Time? How much time?"

"I don't know. A few months, a year maybe."

"And what will I do?"

"You'll go back to San Francisco and finish your residency. You'll do it because I want you to."

"But I don't want to go," I whispered.

"You have to go. I didn't spend all that time obsessing over your case just to have you throw it all away, now did I?"

His eyes glistened in the sterile light, his voice gently teasing. I suddenly felt ashamed by my desperate, childlike pleas, and I looked down at my hands.

"I have to do this on my own, Bella."

"No you don't."

He sighed. "It's not easy arguing with you."

"That's because I'm almost as stubborn as you," I said.

"True," he agreed, the hint of a smile on his lips. "Then I have a plan for us."

"A plan?"

"Yes. It came to me in my drug-induced coma."

I gave him a puzzled look, and waited for him to continue.

"In a year, I expect to see you."

"A year?! Edward, that's like an eternity—"

"I want to see you in one year. What's today's date?"

"It's September 14th."

"All right, then I want to see you September 14th of next year. I don't know where I'll be, or what I'll be doing, but that's the plan." He paused. "If you still want to see me in a year, of course."

"Why can't I just…visit you, like a normal person?" I asked.

"Because our circumstances aren't normal."

"I just want you to get well," I said, because it was true.

"Then give me the time I need to do this."

"Can I call you at least?"

"We'll talk," he said. "You're still my patient, you know."

I managed a small smile, but I was struggling against the uncertainty of another year without Edward—a year in which life, and work, and people could change everything.

But I could do this, somehow, if I had to. I could give Edward the one thing he asked for, the one thing I knew I would struggle to give.

"I love you, Edward," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

And this time, his words were the same, but somehow different. Not a farewell so much as a promise, if not for today, then for someday soon.

"I know."

***

**A few people asked about the whole bloody mess of last chapter, and it has to do with what happens when the air pressure in your lungs is disrupted. Pneumothorax means, literally, "air (in the) chest," and it can be caused by a traumatic injury which causes air to leak into the chest cavity. When this air leaks into the chest, the pressure gradient between your lungs and outside air disappears, causing the lungs to "collapse" (atelectasis). As long as you seal the cavity and trap the air back in there, which is what Bella did, then you can reinflate the lungs like a balloon.**

**Edward's other injury, in case anyone is interested, can be found in this article, which is what I used to write this chapter (Google "Treatment of severe double spinal cord injuries" and click on the first link, and click on the PDF/Article link on that webpage - it's easier than posting the link). A quick summary, in case you don't want to go to the trouble: a 25-year-old man was in a car accident, fractured the C7 and T4 vertebrae (just as I described), and had spine stabilization surgery performed on both vertebrae immediately after the accident. The authors of the article presented the case to six different surgeons (a year after the actual accident), and asked them how they would have treated his injuries. Several of the surgeons said they wouldn't do anything at all, because the injury was too grave. Others said they might operate on one of the vertebrae, but probably not both. Every single one of them said that no matter what they did to treat him, he would be paralyzed for life.  
**

**A year later, he had fully recovered.**

**The next chapter is going to fast-forward a year...because I'm just as impatient as anyone else. Heh heh.**

**Please review! Thanks!**


	31. Soul Searching

**A/N: **Thank you all for your thoughts and reviews! I love hearing from you, and I appreciate every single comment I receive. Several of you mentioned the year-long gap, which is definitely a valid point. One of the reasons I felt I had to do it that way was because of Bella's residency, which is virtually 100-hour work weeks with very little flexibility. You can't just leave a residency - it's not quite that easy. More importantly, maybe, I felt like Edward's character would have wanted it this way - he's stubborn, and proud, and wanted to do this on his own without Bella sacrificing a year of her life for him (perhaps the most important year of her career). That said, I definitely grappled with the time lapse, and I thought about making it six months, but for an injury this severe, I had to make it a full year. I hope this makes sense, and again, thank you all for bringing up such excellent points and forcing me to really think hard about the plot and the decisions I make.

If this were another story, and not already 100,000 words long, I might have spent that year exploring his recovery, but I felt like I couldn't do that at this point - I wanted to keep the tension going, since so many of you have stuck with me all the way through. I didn't want the story to lag (which happens sometimes in fanfiction, and since my attention span is approximately four minutes long, I've given up on a lot of stories that way).

Thanks as always for reading!!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Twilight.

***

**Chapter 30: Soul Searching**

**BPOV**

_One Year Later_

"So, Bella, how does it feel?"

"It hasn't really sunk in, honestly."

"It will. Are you going to miss it?" Dr. Denali leaned back in his chair, his face barely visible over the stacks of charts and books and random tokens of appreciation.

"I'll miss this place and the people here. I won't miss the hours, though."

"Most people are dying to get as far away from here as possible," he mused.

"But it's so…_real_ here. I couldn't stand working in a cushy office in Marin somewhere."

"In that case, you may end up like me," he said. He smiled, and despite the decades of age and experience between us, I felt more connected to this man than the five other residents who were moving on with me.

"Maybe," I agreed.

"Speaking of which, have you decided where you plan to practice?" he asked.

"No," I admitted. "I was thinking of taking some time off."

"Not a bad idea," he said. "I did some soul-searching after my residency. I've tried to promote the idea around here, but no one wants to put off that fat paycheck they've worked ten years for."

"Understandable, I guess."

"You'll always have money, Bella. You won't always have the time or the opportunity."

"I'm not sure what that opportunity is, exactly," I sighed.

"Don't force it," he said. "You'll know."

***

Everything changed one year ago. In a single day, if that's even possible, my life shifted from one path to another, and I still haven't figured out why or how or where I'm going. When I think about that week after the accident, those seven days in Seattle that rivaled the worst of my nightmares, I can't remember details. Just a foggy, indistinct picture of the emergency department, the chaotic turnover of people in bright green scrubs and white coats, the constant drone of monitors and machines. I had always wondered about the brain's ability to block things out, to protect the mind from a reality too horrifying to imagine. I don't wonder about that anymore.

So I don't think about it, because I can't. I left the hospital a week after the accident, a week after a maniac so drunk that he couldn't remember his own name plowed into us on a dark, wet road. He walked away.

It wasn't fucking fair.

I came back to San Francisco because Edward wanted me to. He ordered me to come back here, to finish my residency, to get on with my life because he hadn't spent months obsessing over my case just to watch me throw it all away.

It wasn't a punishment, he had said. It was just the way it had to be.

So now the year was over, and it felt pointless. I should have stayed, should have ignored his stubbornness and pride and everything else, and stayed with him. And maybe if the accident hadn't happened, maybe if Edward had been only minorly injured or not injured at all, I would have. But Edward despised vulnerability; he would rather die than admit to his own human frailty.

A year had passed, and while Edward would text or e-mail or keep in touch in some completely intangible way, he never once mentioned his progress—or lack thereof. He never told me if he was fine, or near death, or somewhere in-between. I didn't even know where he was.

So I told him I couldn't do this, couldn't even think about him or hear from him or talk to him, unless I could see him. I knew it was a cruel, selfish ultimatum, but I needed more than words on a page.

He had asked for more time. Three more months, he had said.

I hadn't heard from him since then. And that was three months ago.

I was irritable, and anxious, and while I tried to convince myself it was because I had just one week left in my residency, I knew better. For the last week, I had pressed that stupid refresh button on my email account at least a thousand times, because that was Edward's sole mode of communication. When Gmail had some kind of outage for a few hours, I almost called the company.

And of course I didn't know if he would even contact me at all. I had told him so callously that I couldn't deal with this anymore, that I needed to hear his voice and see his face, that he probably never wanted to talk to me again. And after all I had done, after all I had put him through, I couldn't blame him for that.

The blame—all of it—was on me. If I hadn't lied to him in the first place, if I hadn't gone to Washington, if I hadn't relied on him to take me to the airport…

The doctors in the emergency room told me I had saved Edward's life. Told me that if I hadn't been there, if I hadn't known what to do, he would have died on the scene. Suffocated to death, essentially. That's what happens when your lungs collapse.

But that was hardly a consolation. They didn't know the whole story. They didn't know anything at all.

For the fifth consecutive night that week, I didn't feel like going home. I started to see the on-call room as my sanctuary, a place of constant interruptions and people going in and out that kept me on the edge of sleep. And I preferred that edge, where I couldn't dream, at least not for very long. Because when I dreamed, I dreamed of that night, of blood and horror and inevitability.

***

I was sitting in the residents' lounge, debating my sleeping arrangements for the evening, when Rosalie barged in like she owned the place.

"Bella, it's 9 o'clock on a Friday. Let's get the hell out of here."

"Rosalie, you're not technically allowed in here—"

"Right, because this place is just that cool." She glanced around the dim, empty room, which smelled faintly of ramen noodles and coffee.

"I can't—"

"Oh, bullshit. Let's go."

She pulled me up by the arm with a chastising look on her face, and she handed me a bag and a dress.

"Change into this," she said. "Actually, does this place have a shower? You smell like sickness and death."

I groaned, and nodded slowly.

"Okay, well hurry up. We're meeting them there at 10."

"Them?"

"Yes, them. Other humans. Humans who want to see you. Here, I brought these. Use them."

I looked warily into the bag, which was a travel version of Rosalie's bathroom. Hair-dryer, straightener, makeup, and on the hanger, a deep blue dress that could only be described as sultry.

"Rosalie, this is kind of slutty—"

"Slutty? I know you didn't mean that. I would never put you in a 'slutty' dress, Bella," she smirked. God, she was evil.

"Scandalous then?"

"Stop stalling," she said, but her smirk had grown into a sly smile. "You have twenty minutes."

I groaned and headed into the tiny locker room, while Rosalie made herself at home in the residents' lounge. I didn't really feel like going out, but I had to admit I was kind of relieved to leave this place for a night. I hadn't been to a bar or club in…well, too long.

After a cold, brief shower, I slipped on the blue dress and assessed myself in the mirror. I looked tired, and my hair was a wreck, but at least I looked feminine. Not exactly sultry, but thankfully not businesslike, either.

"Ooh, I like it," Rosalie said from behind me, and I jumped.

"You're like an apparition," I grumbled.

"I need to fix this hair disaster."

"Go for it," I sighed.

Once Rosalie had finished, she took a step back and smiled smugly. She really did have a knack for this, and my chestnut hair had a soft, shiny sheen to it that framed my face and fell lightly over my shoulders. My skin was its usual pale, almost bloodless white, but I was pleased to see some rosiness in my cheeks. A soft, subtle shade of eyeshadow accentuated my brown eyes, and for the hundredth time, I wondered why Rosalie didn't do this for a living.

"You look hot," she said. Rosalie was not shy about her skills, but I really couldn't blame her—for the first time in months, I felt…attractive.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"Okay, let's go. And give that candy striper over there a smile—he's been ogling at you for ten minutes now."

"Ugh," I sighed. She laughed and pulled me out the door, our heels clinking on the hard linoleum floors. Thankfully I didn't see anyone I knew too well, and the halls were nearly empty. Rosalie had apparently called a cab, because she threw me into one as soon as we stepped out the door.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"It's a private party of sorts," she said.

"Where?"

"A penthouse."

"Someone's apartment?"

"Well, no. The hotel is hosting the party."

Rosalie enjoyed torturing me. She knew this, I knew this, and she did it anyway.

"Will I know anyone there?"

"Yes," she said.

"Rosalie—"

"You worry too much! Here, shoot this."

"What?!"

She took two tiny bottles of Grey Goose out of her pocket, and handed them to me.

"I'll do it with you," she said, and she pulled out two more. She was like a goddamn traveling liquor cabinet.

She unscrewed the cap and prepared to down it, and she held it to her lips while waiting for me to follow. I rolled my eyes and sighed, and opened it slowly. She grinned.

Well, what the hell. It had been a long, torturous week.

Ten minutes later, we pulled up to the swank hotel, and I was already feeling a little buzzed. It was a windy, but clear night, and the cool air prickled the nerves on my skin. I shivered against the cold, while Rosalie discussed something with the bellhop—or bouncer, couldn't tell which—and we headed for the elevator.

For some reason, I started to feel nervous despite the alcohol coursing through my veins, probably because I hadn't been out socializing in months. I went out, of course, but I didn't exactly go clubbing very often these days. And I hadn't worn something this slutty, or scandalous, or whatever, in a very long time.

"I think you need another drink," Rosalie said, as we stepped off the elevator into the hall. Another man in a black suit led us down the hall, and opened the door to a dark, crowded room, teeming with beautiful people, lavish cocktails, and house music.

We went straight to the bar, and Rosalie ordered me something that looked fairly innocuous, but probably had an alcohol content through the roof. She took a sip of her own drink, and maneuvered us to the end of the bar.

"Are we meeting Emmett here?" I asked, cringing at the smooth burn of whatever poison that bartender had concocted for me.

"Yes, and Alice and Jasper, too."

"Oh," I said, and while my spirits brightened at the thought of seeing them, I realized what this meant for me. "I'm going to be the fifth wheel."

"Oh, stop," she huffed. "You're anything but that."

"But Rosalie—"

"I know what I'm doing," she said. "Now stop worrying."

I fumed a little bit and took a long sip of my drink, which went down a little easier this time. It wouldn't be long before I stopped caring completely what wheel I was.

"Bella!" I recognized Alice's high, cheery voice, and I couldn't help but smile at the sight of her, so genuinely happy to see us.

"You must be so excited to be nearly finished," she said.

"I'm excited for less grueling hours."

"Now you can do whatever you want," she said.

"Well, I don't have a real plan yet," I admitted. Alice, on the other hand, had figured everything out when her residency ended last year, and she was still at UCSF, seeing patients on an out-patient basis. The hours were better, and she seemed happy.

"You'll figure it out," she said. "Don't worry."

"Where's Jasper?" I asked.

"He and Emmett are coming a bit later."

"Oh." I caught a weird look on Rosalie's face, but I was too tipsy to analyze it.

"What's the occasion for this…event?" I asked.

"It's a fundraiser for one of Emmett's colleagues," Rosalie explained. "For young entrepreneurs."

"I see," I said. I glanced around the room, and while my eyes had slowly adjusted to the dim lighting, I still couldn't make out any faces. The music was playing at the perfect volume, loud enough to accentuate the intimate mood of the room, but low enough for easy conversation. Floor-to-ceiling windows surrounded the bar and common areas, offering a sweeping, seductive view of the city below.

"Let's socialize," Rosalie suggested, but it sounded more like a command. Alice shrugged and I followed them into the crowd, which eyed us as we moved through a sea of well-dressed people. Rosalie was stunning in her tight red dress and heels, and she turned heads wherever she went. And although Alice was petite, she had a perfect figure and striking black eyes, and it didn't surprise me that people were turning to stare at her.

"See?" Rosalie said, turning back toward me. "These guys are salivating over you."

"Uh, what?" I asked.

"They're staring at you. Just go with it," she said.

Were they staring at me? I always assumed it was someone else, like Rosalie, or Alice, or whoever else I went out with, but maybe I was missing something. Maybe it wasn't just them…

We ended up in a circle of young professionals dressed in crisp suits and ties, sipping on gin and tonics in plush sofas by the window. I suddenly felt shy, which I tried to remedy by finishing my drink in three quick gulps. Rosalie gave me a satisfied look, and after I took someone up on the offer to buy me another, I was talking and laughing and having fun. And I was definitely intoxicated, but in a good way.

After an hour or so of chatting up various guys about their start-ups or other tech businesses I didn't understand, Rosalie gave me a little nudge.

"Emmett and Jasper are downstairs—they're having an issue with the guest list, so we have to run down and get them. Do you want to come?" she asked.

"No," I said. "I'll just wait."

"We'll be right back," Alice added.

I watched them go, grateful for a few minutes to collect myself. I wandered instinctively over to one of the many windows, from which I could see the lights and bridges and the dark water of the bay. On a clear night like this, I could see for miles, and was straining to see the sloping hills of the Marin headlands when I felt a sudden heat on my skin, like a fire burning just inches behind me.

"I knew I'd find you here," came the voice, low and smooth and musical.

I felt my breath hitch in my throat, as I realized I must be a hell of a lot drunker than I thought I was. I turned around slowly, coming face-to-face with the most beautiful hallucination I could possibly have imagined. The heat was coursing through me now, like a slow, smoldering burn in my veins.

"Edward," I breathed.

I was supposed to be furious—enraged, even. I hadn't spoken to him in months, hadn't seen him in a year. I had told him everything, had confessed and apologized and begged him to let me stay, but his pride had won.

But I wasn't angry. Not even close.

I reached up and wrapped my arms around him, hugging him as tightly as my muscles could manage. He responded by lifting me up and burying his face in my hair, breathing me in. I wanted to kiss him and yell at him and ask him what the hell he was doing here, but I couldn't do that now. I couldn't do anything but relish the feel of him, strong and whole and real.

Finally he managed to break my hold on him, and he set me down with a crooked grin on his face. But there was a sadness lurking there, a difference in him I hadn't seen a year ago.

"You're okay," I said, more incredulous than I expected to sound. The doctors had used words like "permanent" and "irreversible" and "devastating" to describe his injuries, but clearly they were wrong.

"I'm better," he said simply, and the sadness on his face flickered in his eyes.

"But how…how did…?" I stammered.

"I'll explain later," he said. "I want to hear about you first."

"There isn't much to tell," I said, which was true. I felt like I had spent the last year of my life working, working, and working, and not much else.

"You finished your residency," he acknowledged.

I nodded.

"And now?" he asked.

"I don't know," I sighed. "I just…forgot to think about what would come next."

"Well, that's one of the reasons I'm here," he said, and my eyes widened, because I couldn't help but think that Edward was going to somehow break my heart all over again. If he walked out of my life one more time, I wasn't sure I could physically or emotionally handle it.

"What do you mean?" I managed.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," he said, his eyes a bright, blazing green. "I came to ask you something."

"You're leaving?" I choked out.

"I'm…going back," he said.

"To Forks?"

"No. I left Forks three months ago, I'm practicing somewhere else now. Medicine wasn't the same, Bella…I needed a change."

When I had left Edward in that dismal hospital room, the doctors had said he would never practice medicine again. Edward hadn't even flinched at the news, but I sometimes wondered if a prognosis like that would be enough to kill him. But now he had clearly defied the odds, and he seemed fully capable of doing whatever he had done before.

"I don't understand," I said honestly. "You seem fully recovered."

"It's more complicated than that," he said.

I sighed, and the air quivered as it left my throat.

"Then what did you come here to ask me?" I asked.

"I'm asking you to come with me."

I tried to respond, but nothing came out. I glanced down, allowing the words to register in my head. I couldn't concentrate when he looked at me like that; I could hardly breathe.

"Where?" I finally asked.

He sighed, his eyes a tortured mess of emotion. "I'm running a clinic in East Timor, it's an island off the coast of Indonesia. It's mostly children, and we need pediatricians—"

"You've been in Southeast Asia all this time?" I asked incredulously.

"I didn't know what else to do, Bella. I needed a change, needed something. I couldn't stay in Forks, and I couldn't come back here. These countries need doctors like you wouldn't fucking believe—"

"I know," I said. "I did a rotation abroad during medical school. But why…it doesn't seem…"

"It doesn't seem like something I would do?" he said, a small smile on his face. "That's very true."

"Then why?"

"I'll explain everything later. I would have told you sooner, but I wanted you to finish your residency."

"Where exactly is East Timor?" I asked, racking my brain for any knowledge I had about world geography.

"It's far," he said.

"Edward—"

"You don't have to decide right now. And it's not a long-term thing—if you could come for just a month, just to talk to some of the pediatricians there and offer your expertise…"

"When?" I asked. The practical side of my brain was telling to stop, sit down, and think about this, and the impractical side was telling me to leave tomorrow.

"Whenever you want."

I opened my mouth to say something—something rash and impractical—but Edward interrupted me.

"Just think about it," he said.

"Okay," I mumbled.

"Are you still angry with me?" he asked, in that sultry, velvet voice that made my nerves hum.

"Maybe," I huffed, but my ridiculously breathless voice gave me away.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I hope one day you'll understand."

I looked out the window, and suddenly the view seemed woefully inadequate compared to Edward Cullen, whose black suit and grey tie made him seem impossibly tall and trim and handsome. I ached for the feel of his hands on mine, but so much time had passed; so much had happened since the last time we had been together that way.

"Well," I said, "I am a little bit angry."

His face fell slightly, and I scrambled to return the smile to his face.

"I'm angry you're leaving so soon," I said.

"It couldn't be helped," he replied, although I could hear the strain in his voice.

"Well, since you're only in town one night, I'm sure you must be very busy," I said, and I knew that if I could detect the gentle teasing in my voice, he probably could, too.

"Not really, actually." A little smirk crept onto his lips, and I blushed in spite of myself. His grin widened.

"Well, maybe we can catch up later, then."

"No," he said, his voice a low growl as he finally—_finally_—reached out and placed his hand on my hip, pulling me toward him.

"We're catching up right now."

***

**I like reunions. :)  
**

**Please review!**


	32. The Nervous System

**A/N**: I'm sorry for the slightly longer delays in updates - I've been rereading the story from start to finish, so I can better assess its resolution. :)

Thank you as always for reading and reviewing. Your reviews seriously make my day - every single one of them. Thank you!!

***

**Chapter 32: The Nervous System  
**

**EPOV**

I could feel her tremble in my arms as I whispered my demand in her ear, and I pulled back slowly to meet the intense, smoldering look in her eyes that I remembered and missed and understood. It wasn't conflict I had seen in her eyes that day she had walked into my office in Forks, soaking wet and achingly beautiful. It was _longing_.

And after all this time, after all these months of torture and waiting and pain, I knew that fucking feeling. I knew it and loathed it, but understood its purpose. I was not a patient man, but I would have waited a lifetime for this woman.

I had waited long enough. We had waited long enough.

But Bella didn't give me the chance to answer my own need for her; she didn't wait for me to smile or speak or move. She placed her hands in mine and kissed me softly, sweetly, and she tasted like strawberries and rain and desire.

She broke the kiss slowly, languorously, so that I could stand there and just indulge my senses by looking at her. She smiled shyly, almost guiltily, and I watched with amusement as her cheeks flushed an even deeper red.

"Is that what you had in mind?" she asked.

"Close," I uttered, and her blush deepened at the huskiness in my voice. So much for a sweet, innocent kiss. "Come with me."

I took her little hand in mine and led her through the sea of dark suits and cocktail dresses. I knew we hadn't touched or even spoken in months, I knew that life and incredible circumstances had gotten in the way, but all of that vanished instantly when I took in the reality of her, standing by the window, gazing over the city she loved.

And that dress. Jeezus, that dress. The deep blue provided a sultry contrast to her flawless ivory skin, and it hugged her curves in all the right places. Bella looked fantastic in anything, even a hospital gown or oversized scrubs, but it was like she had been created to wear this dress. Unfortunately I had plans for that dress, and I almost felt bad about it. Almost.

We made it within ten feet of the door before Alice materialized, her arms crossed against her chest, a knowing little smirk on her face.

"Making an early exit?" she asked. Bella's face flushed a warm, incriminating red.

"Just looking for you," I smirked.

"I see you two found each other," Alice observed, her charcoal eyes dancing in the subtle light of the room. I had planned to explain everything to Bella soon, but her widened eyes told me she couldn't wait that long.

"Technically, he found me," Bella said, turning toward me with a surprised, confused look on her beautiful face. "Did Alice and Rosalie...ask you to come?"

"No," I replied. "I asked you."

She opened her mouth to say something, but just then, Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie walked through the door. They stopped when they saw us, but only for a second before Jasper reached out and shook my hand, and gave me the manliest hug he could manage. Emmett paused awkwardly, and then he shrugged and did the same, hugging me like I was his long-lost brother. Rosalie must have softened him up quite a bit.

"You're looking good," Emmett said, shoving his hands in his pockets, trying to recover from an uncharacteristic show of emotion.

"Thanks, Em."

"Why don't we sit down?" Alice suggested, gesturing toward one of the tables at the far side of the room. She nodded toward one of the hosts, who removed the 'reserved' sign from the table as we sat down. We arranged ourselves in the plush, lavish couches, situated intimately under a soft, subtle light. Bella was next to me, her bare leg radiating heat against mine, her hands placed neatly in her lap. I could hear her quick, airy breaths, while a faint smile played on her lips. She wasn't angry, at least. Just…confused.

"Sorry for the delay, guys," Rosalie sighed. "Emmett and Jasper got lost in the Tenderloin."

"We did not get lost, hon," Emmett said, squeezing her leg in rebuke. "We just stopped for food."

"In the Tenderloin?"

"We felt like Burger King," he mumbled.

"Doctors eat that shit?" Rosalie uttered. "You should know better."

"Yeah," he said sheepishly. I never thought I would live to see someone call Emmett out on his fast food addiction, but Rosalie didn't think twice about it. She had certainly tempered him, although he fought valiantly to maintain a tough exterior. In this crowd, he failed.

"In any case, we're sorry we're late, Edward," Jasper said, pouring a round of drinks from the bottle of Grey Goose on the table.

"You aren't late. This is supposed to go all night," I said.

Bella shot me a puzzled look, but Alice spoke before she could say anything.

"Is it true you're only here for one night, Edward?" she asked, her voice laced with disappointment.

"Afraid so," I said.

"How the hell did you pick a place like East Timor?" Jasper asked.

"I have a colleague there, an advisor I worked with in medical school."

"But why go abroad at all?" Alice asked.

"It's complicated…" I said, trailing off, unsure if I even wanted to explain further. But everyone was looking at me with such expectant faces that I knew I couldn't avoid giving them at least an abbreviated version.

"My perspective on medicine has changed somewhat," I said simply.

I could see Emmett opening his mouth to give me shit for such an obscure, uninformative answer, but Alice interrupted him. Maybe she could see the hesitancy on my face; maybe she knew I didn't want to talk about nine months of the most nightmarish pain and frustration I had ever gone through. I would tell Bella someday, if she asked, but not now, not even among friends who had once seen me as indestructible.

"Will you come back to San Francisco?" Alice asked.

"Maybe someday," I said, and I could hear Bella's quiet, tremulous sigh beside me. If only Alice hadn't intercepted us, if only we had made it out the door so I could explain…

"Well you should," Alice said. "You should because it isn't the same without you."

"Yeah, everyone's in a much better mood for some reason," Jasper smirked.

"Oh, stop," Alice said, hushing him with a dismissive wave of her hand. "People still ask about you, Edward. All the time."

"You're stroking his ego, Alice," Emmett teased.

"Jeez, you guys give me such a hard time," she huffed. "I was just trying to tell Edward how much we missed him."

"Actually, Alice," I said, before Emmett could launch another joke at my expense, "I'd like to hear about everyone else."

"Oh," she said, her face brightening into a wide smile. "Well, in that case, we should go around. Rosalie, you can start."

"Alice, we aren't on the wards," Jasper reminded her.

She gave him a chastising glare, but he just chuckled while Alice turned toward Rosalie, urging her to begin. It definitely did feel like hospital rounds, where everyone talked in order, but Alice was so damn excited about the whole thing that no one had the will to argue with her.

"Well," Rosalie began, quite dramatically. "I was working in a bookstore on Haight for a while, but now I run a boutique downtown."

"So much girly stuff in there," Emmett grumbled.

"You know you love it," she teased. She turned toward Emmett, whose growing smirk betrayed him.

"I'm still fixing people's knees," he said. "Including Rosalie's. She insisted on being as limber as she can possibly be, so that—"

"Okay, thanks, Emmett," Alice interrupted, while Emmett chuckled to himself.

"What about you, Alice?" I asked.

"I'm practicing at UC, mostly in the clinics. The hours are better," she said. "And I'm close to Jasper, so…that's good, too."

She smiled, smoothed the crease of her dress while Jasper draped his arm around her and pulled her toward him.

"She can't get enough of me," he explained.

"I'm just glad I'm not your boss anymore," she sighed. "_That_ was not fun."

I listened to the others, enjoyed hearing about the direction their lives had taken in the last eighteen months, but Bella's silence made me uneasy. I wondered if she was angry, or annoyed, or just confused by the fact that everyone seemed to know something she did not.

I wondered if Alice might force her to say something, to provide an update to a crowd that already knew everything, except what exactly had happened one year ago, on that wet, deserted road. And that, I knew, she never talked about. Not to anyone. Not even to me, even though I had been there.

"I'm finishing my residency," Bella said suddenly, her voice just barely rising above the music of the room. "After that—"

But then one of the staff appeared, his low, gruff voice infiltrating the conversation, drowning out Bella's words as though she hadn't spoken at all.

"Excuse me, Dr. Cullen," he said, glancing awkwardly at everyone around me. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

I hesitated, then nodded while the others looked on. I could hear their conversation resume as I walked away from the table, out into the hall with Thomas, the hotel liaison for events like these.

"I apologize for the interruption, sir, but the bar is running low on top shelf liquor. Would you like us to go to our reserves?"

"No, top shelf only," I replied. Shitty booze was for shitty places, and this place was the classiest in the city.

"I understand, sir."

"Will that be a problem?" I asked.

"No, not at all. I just wanted to confirm it with you."

"That's fine," I said hurriedly, as my mind shifted back to Bella, just sitting there waiting. Every second away from her felt like wasted time.

"Is there a time you wish to close the bar?"

"No. As late as the party goes. Are we finished here?" I asked, and this time I could hear my impatience coloring my words.

But before he could answer, I felt a warm, soft caress on the small of my back, which sent a delicious chill down the length of my spine. I began to turn, but she was already in front of me, moving like air to face me while every other detail of the room disappeared.

"Why are you running away from me?" she asked, a tiny, teasing smile on her face.

"I don't know what I was thinking," I replied, because shit, I really didn't. First of all, I wanted years with her, not just one night. And second of all, I should know better than to run away from someone as exquisite, and sexy, and beautiful as Bella Swan, even for just a few minutes.

She glanced down at her hands, shuffled her feet a bit, and I knew she was working up the courage to ask me something. So I just waited, admiring the soft curves of that brilliant cerulean dress, and the way she wore it so well.

"What did you mean when you said you asked me to come?" she asked. She didn't sound angry, or impatient, or annoyed—just curious.

"This is a fundraiser for my clinic, Bella. I'm hosting it for wealthy donors."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did tell you, in a way. I told you I'd see you on September 14th."

"But I hadn't heard from you in three months…I didn't expect to see you at all," she sighed. "Why did you ask for more time?"

"I needed it," I said, although it broke my fucking heart to wait a year for her. How could she not see that?

"To do what?"

"I needed you to finish your residency without distractions. And I needed to make sure I wasn't just a shell of who I used to be."

"Even if you hadn't recovered, Edward, you would still be the same person—"

"In some ways, yes," I replied. "In other ways, I would feel inadequate."

She exhaled softly, deeply. Her arms fell loosely at her sides, and I ached to reach out to her, to act as though no time at all had passed.

"It's hard for me to talk about," I finally said.

"I know," she whispered. "It's hard for me, too."

"If you want an explanation for my recovery, or how the hell I'm standing here in front of you a year later, I don't honestly know. It was grueling, Bella. It was the worst physical and mental pain I've ever been through in my life."

"I want to hear about it if you'll tell me," she said softly, her brown eyes wide and intense, her voice gently pleading.

"There isn't much to tell," I said honestly. "It's simply mind over matter."

"I wish I had been there," she whispered.

"You were."

"How?"

"You've spent time in a hospital bed, Bella. Your mind finds ways to occupy the time. My mind found you."

She sighed, let her lush brown hair tumble down her cheeks and obscure her perfect features while she spoke.

"I thought about you, Edward. I thought about you all the time."

"Then I'm sorry I made you wait. It was the only way…"

"But you seem fine now. You _are_ fine."

"I can't practice the way I used to, Bella. I can't work sixty-hour shifts, straight through. I can't stand for long periods of time, and there was some permanent nerve damage. These are little things, things you can't see or really notice, but they're there. I just haven't learned to live with them yet."

"I understand," she said quietly. And I knew she did.

"What about you, Bella? Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," she said, with a small, but genuine smile on her face. "I've been symptom-free for a while now."

"I think you will be for a long time," I said, not to reassure her, but because I truly believed that she would be.

"I hope so," she said. "There are a lot of things I want in life."

"Me too," I agreed. Her smile grew shy as her face flushed a dazzling pink, and she looked away.

"And what is it that you want, Edward?" she asked demurely, and I could feel that familiar heat course through my veins.

"Are we talking long-term or short-term?"

"Um…" she said, reaching up to sweep a lock of chestnut hair behind her ear. She glanced down the hall and cocked her head, teasing the fuck out of me.

"Short-term," she whispered.

***

**Did you really think I'd leave out a big, fat, juicy lemon? Psh, no. That is coming.**

**The Tenderloin is...well, it's where you don't want to be at 3 am in San Francisco. I got kicked out of the Burger King there once, because you have to pay to use the bathroom...yeah.  
**

**Please review! Thanks!  
**


	33. Saved

**A/N**: See longer note at the end of the chapter.

Beware mature themes...ahem.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Twilight.

***

**Chapter 33: Saved  
**

**EPOV**

"Hmm," I mused. Jeezus, I sounded husky as all hell and I could feel it elsewhere, too. There would be no more cockblocking tonight, that was for damn sure.

"Just don't deliberate too long, Edward. One of those tech guys almost ruined your plans to seduce me."

"Don't taunt me," I growled. "I know exactly how alluring you are."

She shifted her feet a little bit, her eyes glimmering in the warm light of the halls. She was so tauntingly, impossibly alluring; how I let these goons talk to her for even an hour seemed like an egregious allowance on my part.

"Come on," I whispered huskily, taking her hand in mine.

"Are we leaving?" she asked, as we started down the hall.

"Briefly," I replied, and she must have caught the smirk on my face, because she quirked an eyebrow and shot me a quizzical look.

"I don't think Rosalie or Alice would be happy if I took you away from them just yet," I explained.

"Then where are we going?"

"This is a hotel, isn't it?"

Her eyes widened in realization, but she gave my hand a little squeeze when we passed the elevator on our way to the end of the hallway.

"Where are we…?" she started, as I opened the door to the stairwell.

"Shh," I said, pulling her into me as the door swung closed behind us. "You worry too much."

"Edward—" she breathed, and I could hear her heart fluttering in her chest. Her hands were small and warm in mine, and that beautiful flush in her cheeks had reached the span of her collarbone.

"That dress is almost as exquisite as you are," I said, and a sultry little grin spread on her face.

"Why, Edward, are you planning of taking advantage of me in a stairwell?"

I chuckled and shook my head—hell, I definitely wanted to, but she deserved better.

"I'd like to think of myself as a bit classier than that," I smirked.

With a sudden movement that left her a little breathless, I grasped her hand and led her down one flight of stairs and into another hallway, with soft yellow walls and warm lighting. I stopped at a door at the end of the hall, and waited while she brushed by me and walked into the room.

"This is…incredible," she whispered, as her gaze fell on the windows circling the room. The city lights gave the pale walls a soft, sensual glow, and I just stood for a few seconds by the door, admiring her and the city beyond.

"What are you doing over there?" she said, a teasing lilt to her voice. "Get over here."

I walked over in three long, slow strides, and I could see her brown eyes burning with anticipation.

"Don't make me wait for you," she whined teasingly.

"I've waited long enough," I growled, and I crushed my lips to hers in a kiss that was anything but sweet, soft, or innocent. She whimpered a little bit in my arms, as I pulled her hips into mine and kissed her deeply, hungrily, indulging in the taste and feel and perfection of her. I let my hands roam over the slender curves of her hips, finding the bare skin on the small of her back, warm and smooth and flawless. I loved this dress, but I had given it enough attention, and I would have to relegate it to the floor very soon.

I left her gasping when I broke the kiss and continued my assault along the length of her jaw, down the gentle slope of her neck, to those perfect collarbones that had flushed a delicate, delicious pink. I could feel her tightening her hold on my hair, teasing the nape of my neck while I lingered on the skin just above the neckline of her dress.

"This has to go," I murmured.

She looked at me, her deep chocolate eyes blazing with desire and lust and love, and she nodded slowly. She watched as I untied the straps behind her neck, moved my fingers down the length of the zipper, and watched it drop to the floor in a pool of brilliant blue.

"Holy fuck," I muttered, when she stepped toward me with a sly smile on her face.

"I can explain," she said, clearly amused by the look on my face. Apparently Bella had worn precisely one article of clothing to this event tonight.

"Don't," I said, and my cock was so hard that it hurt.

"You need to catch up," she said, her soft, musical voice thick with desire.

I felt a crooked grin spread on my lips as she removed my jacket, my tie, my shirt, her warm little hands traversing the length of my chest. She didn't gasp or pause or say anything when her fingers grazed the ragged scars of that night one year ago; she didn't avoid them, but she didn't focus on them either. Her hands were so warm, so attentive, so distinctly hers…and it wasn't long before I was kissing her again, savoring every inch of her naked body while I satiated my other senses.

But fuck, I was hard as a rock and I could feel her, wet and hot and aching for me, through two layers of clothes. Her hands began traveling down my chest again, slowly and teasingly, until she reached the buckle on my belt and removed it with a quick, seamless pull. I groaned as she unzipped my pants and gave my aching cock the relief of freedom from those damn pants, until she reached in and took me in her warm, tiny hand.

I hissed with surprise when she did that, and a little smile crept onto her lips.

"I think these have to go," she murmured teasingly, gesturing to my unbuckled pants and boxers.

"Are you sassing me?" I chided. Damn, I loved it when she did that.

She shrugged a little bit and let the rest of my clothes fall to the floor, which I kicked against the wall with a dull thud. I could see the blush in her cheeks, fiery and red and hot as all hell, and I backed her up toward the bed with a low moan in my throat.

She fell back onto the bed, and again I took a few seconds just to admire the sight before me. The yellow lights of the city fell in long, punctuated streaks on the bed, and the only sound was the low hum of traffic below, mingling with the frantic pace of Bella's breathing.

"Edward," she whined, and then I had my hands on her, caressing every inch of her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach, her long and slender legs. Her nipples were hard and erect, and I lingered there, kissing and biting and pinching until she cried out with little moans of pleasure. I traveled lower, although my own breath hitched in my throat when I felt the heat between her legs, enveloping my fingers that languished just inches from where she wanted it the most.

She was whimpering now, bucking her hips downward to meet my fingers until I thrust two of them inside her, and holy fuck she was wet, tight, and ready. I teased her clit with my fingers, and then she reached down and stilled my wrist with her hand.

"As I said," she gasped, "I've waited long enough."

I grinned in spite of myself and hovered over her, before I realized that the condom I needed was in my pants, which was lying in a heap somewhere across the room. She sensed my hesitation, and slid her hand down to my dick, which made me groan like a fucking animal.

"I'm on the pill," she said.

I might have argued with her under some other circumstances, might have insisted on more than just oral contraceptives because I was just careful like that, but I didn't have it in me.

So I just nodded instead, and with her trembling beneath me, her face covered in a thin sheen of sweat and desire, I thrust into her with a hell of a lot less restraint than I had intended, because fuck, I wanted her. Needed her, desired her, belonged to her. She cried out a little bit and I hesitated, but she arched her hips into mine and urged me into a faster, deeper rhythm that made my nerves sing. She was so fucking wet, it was almost unreal. I had to think of something else, distract myself just a bit, before I came too soon because shit, she was fucking perfect and I couldn't hold on for very long like this.

But willpower is a strange, unlikely thing, and I managed to savor the feel of her, pulsing with me and around me as I thrust into her with deep, hard strokes. I could feel her climax building, could feel her muscles tightening around me as she wrapped her legs around my waist, whimpering with each thrust.

And then I could feel her muscles contract, could hear her breathless gasps of my name as she came in a sudden, shuddering release that continued in waves. I continued to thrust into her, continued to indulge in the smooth perfection of her skin and face and everything else, and because Bella was fantastically engineered to do so, she came again as I fell over the edge, filling her completely in the hot rush of my release.

She was still trembling as I fell beside her, and pulled her on top of me, the way I knew and remembered. I swept the wet strands of hair from her face, and she smiled lazily as her breathing slowed.

"I love you, Edward," she said, her deep chocolate eyes fixed on mine, her hair cascading down her shoulders onto my chest.

I knew what she expected me to say, what she had heard me say, back when she thought I doubted the truth in her words. But things had changed, and she was here and she was mine, and I didn't have to reassure her anymore.

"I love you, too," I said.

***

Thirty minutes later, we were both standing at the door, our hair slightly disheveled and our faces kind of flushed, but otherwise in decent shape. Actually, my hair looked the same way it always did, but Bella called it "sex hair" and it kind of made sense. Hers, on the other hand, had that post-workout frenzy to it.

"My hair looks weird," she grumbled.

"It looks fine," I said, but I chuckled at the look on her face.

"Do we have to go back to the party?"

"You were the one who insisted," I reminded her.

"We should go back," she conceded. "They ask about you all the time. And since you're leaving…"

"I'll come back eventually, Bella. I can't stay there forever."

"What's it like there?" she asked, as she leaned languorously against the wall.

"It's very hot, endless beaches, warm water…little towns and villages. Kids running around like crazy," I added.

She smiled, her eyes meeting mine in an intense, loving gaze that made my heart ache for her all over again.

"I like kids," she said.

"Then you might like it there."

"Edward, let me ask you something."

I gave her a quizzical, questioning look, and hesitated. "Okay," I agreed.

"Did you honestly think that I would ever, under any circumstances, let you fly halfway across the world without me?"

She gave me a defiant, amused little smile, her head cocked slightly to one side while she waited for me to answer.

"Did you honestly think I could go anywhere without you?" I asked.

She sighed deeply, a delicate flush on her cheeks and a small, knowing smile on her face. She leaned in and brushed her lips against mine, her eyes a dazzling, deep brown that pulsed with truth and emotion and love.

And then she opened the door and walked out, leaving me standing in the doorframe, admiring her once again.

"Come on, Edward," she teased. "Everyone's waiting for you."

I walked over slowly, deliberately, savoring every fucking step because exactly one year ago, it didn't seem like I'd have the luxury of doing something so terribly fundamental. I thought about it every second for weeks—thought about what it would be like not to walk with her, dance with her, touch her. I thought about it and somehow, from the depths of a soul I didn't know I had, I forced myself to shove the odds in those doctors' faces and burn that fucking wheelchair.

I did it for her.

_You don't understand the difference between healing and curing_, she had told me once.

I did now. I understood the difference between people and patients, that point where science and medicine and the odds left off, and human willpower began. I knew what it was to heal, with words and kindness and empathy, and what it was to cure, with knowledge and expertise.

And I knew, as I walked toward Bella and held her in my arms, what it meant to be saved.

***

**THE END**

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**Oy, not an easy decision!! But I thought about it for a long time, and I feel like this is where the story is meant to end. It's better to end too soon than too late, right? Well, I'm not sure, since I got so attached to these characters and didn't want to let them go, but I decided that this was the ending that Edward and Bella deserved, after so much angst and problems and cockblocking! They deserved a HEA, so I did my best to give them that.**

**That said, I would LOVE some feedback regarding a sequel (which I'm considering), or another story, or something else entirely. I can write another medically-themed story, or I may try something a bit more light-hearted. Please, please, please let me know! I'd love to keep writing, but I'm only motivated if people are interested!! If I do a sequel, I'll update here, so people get an alert about it.  
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**On that note, I want to thank 4theluvofmary for recommending "Save You" over on the Perv Pack's Smut Shack blog, which appeared this past Sunday (if you google the Perv Smut Shack, it's the first thing that comes up - I can't figure out the whole link business on this website). If you found this story through her post, I'm thrilled that you did! And be sure to check out her stories as well if you haven't already!**

**I'd also like to thank everyone who has reviewed and PMed me with such encouraging words, especially l'esprit d'escalier who started a thread for this story at Twilighted. Thanks also to erinmiyu, Twinie, MrsEdwardCullenP, siromygod, and purpledragon74 for sharing their insights with me via PM, telling me to keep going when I got discouraged. I truly appreciate each and every one of you who has stuck with me throughout this story, and I'm so thrilled you enjoyed it!!**

**Thank you again for reading - it's been a pleasure writing, more than you can imagine. :)**


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